REAL  LIFE 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

THE  REAL  ADVENTURE 
THE  PAINTED  SCENE 
THE  THOROUGHBRED 

AN  AMERICAN  FAMILY 
MARY  WOLLASTON 


"We'll  have  to  have  some  more  of  those  nuts." 


See  page  196 


REAL  LIFE 


Into  Which  Miss  Leda  Swan  of  Hollywood 
Makes  an  Adventwroibs  Excursion 


By 
HENRY  KITCHELL  WEBSTER 


Illustrated  by 
EVERETT  SHINN 


im 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright  1921 
The  Metropolitan  Publications,  Inc 

Copyright  1 921 
The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company 


It! 


Printed  in  the  Vnited  States  of  America 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &  CO. 

BOOK  MANUFACTURERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  V. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I  The  Golden   Arrow      .     . 

II  Parenthesis      .     .     -     .    ^ 

III  The  Flight  of  the  Princess 

IV  The   Brown   Taxi    .     .    . 

V  Trapped    ...--.    ^ 
VI  The  Yacht 

VII  The  Inquisitors   .    ^     .    ^ 

VIII  The  Pebble  that  Started  the 

IX  The  Fog-Bell       .     .     .    u 

X  Fate  of  the  Mutineer  .     . 
XI  Progress  of  the  Avalanche 

XII  Into  the  Primitive    ,.    »     . 

XIII  The   Dune-Bug    .... 

XIV  Revelation   .„...,- 
XV  The   Cottage    ..... 

XVI  The  Vampire 

XVII  Out  of  the  Looking-Glass 

XVIII  The  Fifth  Reel , 

XIX  The  Fire-Escape      w     .     .    u 

XX  The  Princess  Skids    -    ,.     . 
XXI  The  Return  of  the  Princess 


^:47249 


REAL  LIFE 


REAL  LIFE 


CHAPTER  I 


THE  GOLX)EN  ARROW 


THE  PRINCESS  through  a  timeless  instant 
gazed  entranced  at  the  most  beautiful  young 
man  she  had  ever  seen  since  she  first  began  seeing 
young  men,  as  such,  at  all ;  a  matter  of  half  a  dozen 
years  perhaps.  For  the  Princess  was  barely  twenty. 
He  was  not  looking  at  her.  His  gaze  was  all 
abroad,  expressive  of  an  adventurousness  some- 
what timid  and  a  confusion  half  enjoyed  over  the 
bedlam  of  sound  and  movement  that  enveloped  him. 
It  was  a  look  that  detached  him  utterly  from  his  sur- 
roundings. Propelled,  feathered  by  his  extraordin- 
ary beauty,  it  flew  like  an  arrow  straight  to  the 
golden  heart  of  the  Princess.  It  was  the  first  shaft 
that  had  ever  found  that  mark.  She  fell  in  love,  she 
was  afterward  to  decide,  then. 

II 


12  REAL  LIFE 

Granted  another  mere  shred  of  time  for  reflec- 
tion she  wcuid  have  reahzed  this  upon  the  spot.  But 
almost  simultaneously  another  arrow,  and  this  a 
lethal  one,  pierced  her  consciousness. 

The  beautiful  young  man  had  in  all  probability 
but  a  few  seconds  more  to  live!  This  was  the 
unanimous  conviction  of  the  horror-struck  by-stand- 
ers,  who,  according  to  their  individual  tempera- 
ments, screamed  at  him  or  merely  stared. 

He  stood  between  two  towering  buildings  in  the 
mouth  of  an  alley  out  of  which — and  wanting 
nearly  the  whole  width  of  it — was  backing  a  jugger- 
naut of  a  motor  truck.  Its  note  of  warning, 
perfunctorily  and  continuously  uttered,  a  thin,  com- 
plaining note  ludicrously  disproportionate  to  its 
monstrous  bulk,  was  engulfed  in  the  pandemonium 
of  rush-hour  downtown  traffic,  the  shrieking  brakes 
of  an  elevated  train  coming  into  its  station  half  a 
block  away,  the  thuttering  of  a  hundred  motor  cars 
.  converging  upon  the  entrance  to  Orchestra  Hall 
around  the  corner,  where  the  world's  greatest  violin- 
ist had  just  finished  a  recital,  the  shrill  of  police- 
men's whistles,  the  shouts,  frantic  now,  of  "Look 
out!" 

The  beautiful  young  man  seemed  trying  to  look 


THE  GOLDEN  ARROW  13 

out,  but  in  what  direction  he  should  look  he  did  not 
know,  and  in  another  three  breaths  one  of  those 
great  double-treaded  driving  wheels  was  going  to 
mangle  the  life  out  of  him. 

With  an  expertness  summoned  from  her  forgot- 
ten past  by  the  agony  of  need,  the  Princess  acted. 
She  sprang  upon  the  young  man — a  diving  tackle 
brilliantly  timed  and  executed.  They  went  down 
together.  They  slid  as  one  mass  in  the  thin  coating 
of  slime  which  a  passing  shower  had  surfaced  the 
alley  with,  and  wedged  against  the  farther  curb. 
The  great  double-treaded  wheel  went  by,  missing 
them  by  a  hand's  breadth. 

The  next  few  minutes  had  for  her  the  quality 
of  one  of  those  restless  dreams  wherein  one  does 
ludicrous  things  in  the  deadliest  frantic  earnest; 
packs  useless  and  untransportable  objects  into  a  dis- 
proportionate trunk  for  a  preposterous  railway 
journey,  is  obliged  to  sally  forth,  because  the  time 
is  so  short,  clad  in  nothing  but  a  night-dress  and 
two  left  gloves,  looks  vainly  for  a  taxi  in  the 
crowded  staring  street  and  catches,  faute  de  mieux, 
a  passing  hearse — that  sort  of  dream. 

She  who  had  been  but  a  moment  ago  the  Prin- 
cess, dignified,  exquisitely  clad,  the  target  of  sud- 


14  REAU  LIFE 

denly  illuminated  glances  of  awed  recognition,  was 
choking  now  in  a  violet  cloud  of  partly  burned  gaso- 
line vapor,  deafened  by  the  clash  of  furiously  idle 
machinery,  struggling  to  extricate  herself  from  a 
mass  of  which  she  seemed  to  have  become  an  indis- 
soluble part,  though  the  other  half  of  it  was 
struggling  too,  as  blindly  as  she,  toward  the  accom- 
plishment of  the  same  purpose. 

She  was,  in  a  general  sort  of  way,  on  top  of 
him,  but  for  some  nightmare  reason  it  seemed  impos- 
sible for  her  to  rise.  Her  arm,  she  presently  real- 
ized, was  between  him  and  the  asphalt.  She  could 
feel  cold  mud  all  the  way  up  to  her  elbow,  along  with 
the  gritty  remains  of  her  platinum  wrist  watch. 
Also  it  was  as  if  something  tied  her  legs.  Her 
skirt,  a  plaited  thing,  must  be  under  him  too. 

"Roll  over,"  she  commanded.  "Roll  off  my 
hand — no,  the  other  way." 

This  produced  a  convulsive  activity  on  his  part 
which  eventually  liberated  her.  They  rose  simul- 
taneously and  bumped  their  heads  against  the  over- 
hanging floor  of  the  motor  van  (it  was  like,  she 
reflected — horribly  like  a  scene  in  a  Mack  Sennett 
comedy,  only  without  a  camera.  But  suppose — 
good  God! — there  was  one  after  all!),  and  scram- 


,  I  J   ',   ,  ' , 


He  dropped  back  limp  against  the  cushion 


See  page  4S 


THE  GOLDEN  ARROW  15 

bled  out  to  confront  an  already  densely  formed  ring 
of  excited  faces. 

There  was  a  spectacled,  button-nosed  young  man 
with  a  deep  voice  and  an  authoritative  manner  who 
seemed  to  perceive  in  the  crisis  a  chance  to  do  some- 
thing tremendous.  And  in  another  instant  there 
was  an  oil-streaked  person  in  a  cap,  the  driver  of 
the  truck,  who,  as  his  first  words  made  evident, 
regarded  himself  as  the  aggrieved  party  to  the 
affair,  whatever  its  outcome.  These  two  were  the 
only  individualities.  The  rest  of  the  crowd  were 
mere  mites  in  the  cheese:  their  sole  property  was 
that  of  occupying  space. 

The  spectacled  young  man  disagreed  with  the 
truck-driver's  views,  and  made  bold,  in  a  bluntly 
expostulatory  manner,  to  say  so.  He  was  cut  short 
by  an  inquiry  as  to  whose  (qualified  by  three  inten- 
sives)  business  this  was  anyway,  and  a  contingent 
observation  upon  the  painful  consequences  of  med- 
dling. There  was  enough  prospect,  in  a  word,  of  a 
street  fight  to  divert  momentarily  the  attention  of 
the  swarming  maggots  from  the  pair  that  had  just 
missed  annihilation- 
Coming  along  in  a  hurry  from  the  boulevard 
comer,  where  he  had  left  the  traffic  to  take  care 


i6  REAL  LIFE 

of  itself,  was  a  policeman.  There  remained  a  hand- 
ful of  precious  seconds  before  he  could  arrive,  and 
the  heart  of  the  Princess  gave  a  flutter  of  hope. 
Much  nearer  than  the  policeman,  right  here  at  the 
curb,  stood  a  yellow  taxi,  its  door  open,  its  just- 
discharged  passenger  standing  beside  the  chauf- 
feur's seat,  his  money  in  his  hand,  arrested  in  the 
act  of  paying  his  fare  by  the  ei"uption  of  this  emo- 
tional Mount  Vesuvius  in  the  mouth  of  the  alley. 
Once  more  the  Princess  acted  with  that  electrical 
blue-spark  sort  of  decision  which  no  merely  inert 
obstacle  can  stand  against.  She  pierced  the  crowd 
like  a  lance  and  leaped  into  the  taxi ;  and  as  she  had 
her  beautiful  young  man  firmly  by  the  hand  when 
she  did  so,  he  came  stumbling  in  after  her.  The 
chauffeur,  not  at  all  the  sort  to  be  dazed  by  sudden 
events,  lowered  his  flag,  slammed  the  door  after 
them  and  inquired,  "Where  to?'' 

"Anywhere,"  cried  the  Princess,  "out  of  this!" 
The  taxi,  on  the  strength  of  a  good  hot  motor, 
started  on  second,  leaped  into  high  as  it  passed  the 
policeman,  and,  taking  advantage  of  his  absence 
from  the  post  of  authority  on  the  comer,  omitted 
the  obligatory  pause.  It  skidded  smartly  around 
into  the  boulevard  and  headed  south. 


THE  GOLDEN  ARROW  17 

Another  taxi,  much  more  pretentious — a  seal- 
brown  affair  with  a  coat-of-arms  painted  on  the 
door  panels — which  had  been  waiting  a  door  or  two 
away  in  front  of  a  Httle  bookshop,  and  idle  except 
for  the  tick  of  its  meter,  gave  a  convulsive  start  just 
then  and  moved  off  as  if  in  pursuit.  But  it  missed 
the  opportune  moment  at  the  corner  and  had  to  wait 
for  a  condensation  in  the  stream  of  traffic  to  go  by. 

The  crowd  about  the  mouth  of  the  alley  was 
thicker  than  ever,  despite  the  sudden  disappearance 
of,  as  it  were,  the  corpus  delicti,  when  the  police- 
man arrived. 

More  people  were  talking.  The  truck-driver 
was  in  the  minority,  the  more  deeply  aggrieved  for 
having  none  to  share  his  views.  The  button-nosed 
young  man  in  spectacles  had  squatted  down  and 
gone  under  the  truck,  to  emerge  again,  as  the  police- 
man arrived,  with  one  hand  in  the  side  pocket  of 
his  coat.  Clutched  in  the  fingers  of  that  hidden 
hand  was  a  gold  mesh  bag,  lumpy  with  various  puta- 
tive treasures,  about  which  he  said  nothing  what- 
ever to  the  policeman. 

But  the  young  man  was  not  a  thief.  There  was 
nothing  sordid  about  his  reticence ;  there  was  noth- 
ing at  all  in  his  heart  at  that  moment  but  a  flame  of 


i8  REAL  LIFE 

pure  romance.  Despite  the  streaks  of  mud  upon 
her  face  and  her  g"enerally  disheveled  and  disreput- 
able air,  which  made  her  so  different  an  object 
from  any  pictured  presentation  he  had  ever  seen  o£ 
her,  he  had  recognized  the  Princess. 


CHAPTER  II 


PARENTHESIS 


AND  in  order  that  you  may  recognize  her  too 
(since  as  a  conscientious  reporter  the  last 
thing  I  would  do  would  be  to  fabricate  or  unneces- 
sarily to  prolong  any  mystery  about  this  episode) 
I  hasten  to  perform  an  introduction. 

The  Princess  was  none  other  than  Leda  Swan. 
Or,  to  put  it  as  succinctly  as  possible,  she  was  not 
Mary  Pickford — not  quite;  not,  as  it  were,  Sirius, 
but  the  next  brightest  star  in  the  kinematographic 
firmament 

Permit  me  to  warn  you,  if  you  intend  to  follow 
this  narrative  of  her  adventure,  to  treat  the  name  of 
affection  by  which  in  private  life  she  was  always 
addressed  and  referred  to  (I  don't  suppose  she  had 
ever  been  called  Leda.  She  could  remember  when 
her  directors  and  other  of  her  colleagues  spoke  of 
her  as  "the  Kid,"  and,  buried  deeper  still,  a  day 
when  she  had  been  "little  Maggie"),  to  treat,  in 

19 


20  REAL  LIFE 

short,  "Princess"  as  a  serious  and  almost  a  scientific 
designation. 

If  the  number  of  persons  in  the  world  who 
recognize  one's  face  and  name  and  take  a  passion- 
ately romantic  interest  in  the  details  of  one's  life  be 
a  fair  criterion  of  celebrity,  then  Leda  Swan  was 
one  of  the  most  celebrated  persons  alive. 

Many  historical  palaces  are  less  palatial  than  the 
great  stone  house  with  its  terraces,  fountains 
(electric  fountains,  by  George!),  monumental  lions, 
formal  gardens  and  lordly  overlook  upon  the  teem- 
ing activities  of  Hollywood,  where  the  Princess 
lived  in  state. 

The  legal  documents  in  whose  consummation 
she  had  just  been  playing  a  passive  but  indispens- 
able part,  signing  her  name  with  a  fine  splutter  of 
ink  on  whatever  dotted  line  her  mother's  indomit- 
able finger  pointed  to,  guaranteed  her  an  income  of 
two  hundred  and  forty  thousand  dollars  a  year,  and 
there  was  a  reasonable  presumption  that  her  own 
interest  in  the  company  would  produce  twice  as 
much  again.  She  had  an  earning  power,  in  a  word, 
of  thousands  of  dollars  a  day,  just  for  having  her 
picture  taken!  If  that  isn't  regal  I  don't  know 
what  is. 


PARENTHESIS  21 

Her  daily  largesse  in  the  way  of  signed  photo^ 
graphs  alone  kept  one  industrious  young  penman 
busy  six  days  a  week  the  year  around.  He  could 
write  "Yours  affectionately,"  or  "Devotedly"  or 
"Ever  Leda  Swan"  so  much  more  convincingly  than 
the  Princess  herself  that  the  authenticity  of  her  few 
genuine  autographs  is  likely  to  be  seriously  ques- 
tioned by  future  collectors. 

Another  sector  of  Leda  Swan's  personality  had 
been  assigned  to  a  young  woman — formerly  asso- 
ciate editor  of  a  woman's  magazine — ^who  wrote  the 
weekly  letter  of  naive  reminiscences  and  prattling 
comment  on  current  morality  which  made  its  weekly 
appearance  in  the  newspapers  of  practically  every 
city  in  the  United  States. 

Leda  Swan  was,  in  short,  like  all  royalty,  a 
widely  ramified  institution  rather  than  a  mere 
person. 

An  edifice  like  that  does  not  erect  itself  fortui- 
tously— one  searches  for  the  hand  of  an  architect; 
and  in  this  case  the  architect  was  not  far  to  seek. 
One  cast  an  awed  glance  at  the  majestic,  even  im- 
perial, lineaments  of  Ma  Swan  and  cried  out,  if 
one's  classical  education  ran  to  that,  "Eureka!" 
There  couldn't  be  a  doubt  of  it.     But  if  you  were 


22  REAL  LIFE 

given  an  opportunity  to  pursue  your  acquaintance 
with  the  Princess's  mamma  this  merely  negative 
absence  of  doubt  grew  to  an  overwhelming  convic- 
tion that  Ma  was  the  steam  in  the  cylinders,  the 
unflagging  propeller  and  the  unremitting  hand  upon 
the  wheel  of  the  institution  the  public  worshiped  as 
Leda  Swan. 

From  the  day  when  she  had  first  offered  for 
inspection  the  tiny  golden-curly  headed  child  she 
held  so  tightly  by  the  hand  and  made  her  first  insat- 
iable bargain,  to  the  day,  just  passed,  in  New  York, 
when  in  a  fitting  atmosphere  of  solemnity,  amid  a 
crowd  of  eminent  and  solemn  counselors — one  of 
them  a  former  Secretary  of  State — Leda  Swan,  In- 
corporated, was  brought  into  existence,  Ma  had 
never  flagged,  never  relented  and  had  very  seldom 
made  a  mistake. 

It  had  not  been  all  easy  sailing  either.  After  a 
year  or  two  of  playing  baby  parts  the  child  in  a 
sudden  unprecedented  manner  had  begim  to  grow 
— became  almost  at  a  bound  hopelessly  too  tall  to 
toddle. 

To  a  domitable  soul  this  would  have  looked  like 
the  end,  for  in  movie  literature  the  child  as  such 
does  not  exist.    Girl  children  are  often  called  for  in 


PARENTHESIS  23 

the  first  few  hundred  feet  of  a  film,  to  be  sure,  but 
only  as  a  necessary  prelude  to  their  budding  out 
into  delicious  young  objects  of  romance  whom  the 
hero  can  clasp  to  his  heart  just  before  the  final 
fadeout  And  these  childish  appearances  are  invari- 
ably played  by  the  ingenues  themselves.  It  is  only 
a  case  for  ringlets  and  a  pinafore. 

So  Ma,  with  her  stringy  young  progeny,  tasted 
the  bitterness  of  extra  work,  dragging  about  from 
one  studio  lot  to  another  on  the  chance  of  their 
needing  a  ragamuffin  boy  or  a  fat  old  woman  to 
make  one  of  a  crowd. 

But  the  girl  went  on  growing,  not  only  lineally. 
As  her  muscles  began  to  overtake  her  bones  she 
developed  into  a  first-class  tomboy :  she  learned  to 
swim,  to  ride,  to  throw  cartwheels.  She  was  com- 
pletely fearless,  and  she  was  preternaturally  quick 
both  to  apprehend  and  to  do;  so  almost  before  Ma 
Swan  had  time  to  foresee  it  and  plan  her  actions 
accordingly,  she  found  herself  in  possession  again 
of  a  personality,  affectionately  known  to  directors 
as  "the  Kid." 

Those  were  the  great  days  of  what  are  known 
as  "westerns,"  drama  replete  with  chaps,  revolvers, 
lariats,  greasers  and  cattle-rustlers,  reckless  young 


24  REAL  LIFE 

bandits  whose  cruelty  and  cynicism  melt  away  at  a 
sweet  young  girl's  caress  and  reveal  the  heart  of 
gold  beneath. 

When  it  came  to  being  abducted,  gagged  and 
bound  across  a  horse,  after  a  wildcat  fight  with  the 
"heavy,"  flinging  herself  off  the  horse,  rolling 
down  a  canyon,  writhing  out  of  her  bonds,  stealing 
another  horse,  sliding  down  a  precipice,  swimming 
a  river,  tearing  off  her  red  shirt  to  flag  a  train  and 
bringing  up  help  in  the  nick  of  time  to  prevent  the 
hero  from  being  hanged  by  mistake,  there  was  sim- 
ply no  one  in  it,  back  in  those  days,  with  the  Kid. 
She  kept  her  hair  permanently  bobbed  and  played 
either  sex  with  equal  ease. 

But  during  all  that  period,  while  the  world  was 
getting  so  convincing  a  presentment  of  the  unguard- 
ed child  of  nature,  running  wild  among  the  mining- 
camps  and  ranges  of  the  West,  there  was  no  location 
too  distant,  no  road  too  rough  for  Ma  to  go  along 
too.  In  every  pause  for  breath  between  the  dance- 
hall  orgies,  pursuits,  lynchings,  hair-breadth  es- 
capes, leaps  for  life  and  so  on,  Ma  was  ready  to 
spring  to  her  post  as  sentry  with  a  big  cloak  to  keep 
off  the  chill,  a  bottle  of  milk,  and  a  basilisk  eye  for 
the  transfixation  of  the  trespasser. 


PARENTHESIS  25 

And  then,  just  as  the  Kid's  easy  supremacy  in 
this  field  was  budding  out  and  getting  ready  to 
flower  into  fame,  Ma  Swan  put  down  her  immov- 
able foot  upon  it.  She  said,  riding  back  to  town 
from  the  location  where  the  girl  had  just  finished 
her  part  in  a  picture  by  jumping  off  a  fifteen-foot 
bank  into  an  automobile  passing  in  the  road  below, 
'That's  the  last  western  lead  we're  going  to  play." 

And  it  was  so.  Directors  raged,  made  glitter- 
ing promises,  but  they  imagined  a  vain  thing.  The 
Kid  ceased  to  exist  like  the  flame  of  a  blown-out 
candle.     The  Princess  was  to  take  her  place. 

Ma  was  right  about  it,  of  course.  The  star  in 
any  western  film  must  always  be  a  man.  Then,  Ma 
surmised,  on  all  the  rough  stuff,  and  the  stunt 
drama  generally,  the  sun  of  public  favor,  though 
still  warm,  was  beginning  to  shine  aslant;  it  was 
not  going  to  last  forever.  The  trail,  the  shanty,  the 
cow-pony  and  the  long  blue-barreled  Colt  were 
already  giving  way  to  the  boulevard,  the  limousine, 
the  Long  Island  country  house,  French  frocks. 
Palm  Beach,  the  venomous  little  pearl-handled 
revolver  snatched  from  a  sable  muff:  in  a  word,  to 
class.  Well,  Class  was  going  to  be  her  girl's  first 
name. 


26  REAL  LIFE 

It  is  quite  possible  that  that  last  jump  off  the 
fifteen-foot  bank  into  a  moving  car — and  it  was  a 
real  jump;  there  was  no  fake  about  it! — had  a  lot 
to  do  with  Ma's  decision.  It  was  a  hair-raising 
thing  to  watch,  for  if  it  had  been  timed  a  little  less 
than  perfectly  it  could  have  produced  a  bad  smash ; 
a  broken  ankle,  for  example,  which,  failing  to  knit 
quite  true,  might  be  perpetuated  in  a  slight  limp. 
And  then  where  would  one  be?  One  could  not  go 
on  taking  chances  like  that  forever.  And  when  it 
was  a  possibly  priceless  possession  like  the  Princess, 
the  chances  had  been  taken  quite  long  enough. 
There  had  been  out  there  on  the  roadside  a  few 
sweating  seconds  when  Ma  had  wondered  whether 
she  had  not  taken  one  chance  too  many. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  girl's  extraordinary  quick- 
ness. She  exhibited  it  now,  for  she  put  on  the  new 
thing  like  a  cloak.  It  was  in  her  very  first  picture 
after  that  that  her  new  director  with  a  faint  flavor 
of  derision  nicknamed  her  "Princess."  Ma  fastened 
upon  it  instantly,  and  never,  so  far  as  anyone  knew, 
addressed  her  daughter  in  any  other  way  afterward. 
The  girl  was  then  just  under  sixteen  years  old. 

I  have  no  desire  to  trespass  upon  the  field  of  her 
official  biographer,  the  young  woman  referred  to 


PARENTHESIS  27 

three  or  four  paragraphs  back  who  turns  out  the 
weekly  syndicated  letter  and  fills  out  the  column 
with  answers  to  correspondents.  Whether  you  read 
that  column  or  not  you  are  unavoidably  in  posses- 
sion of  the  picture  it  presents.  You  know  all  about 
Leda  Swan's  gratitude  to  the  dear  public  that  has 
been  so  wonderfully  sweet  to  her.  You  know  the 
deep  sense  of  obligation  she  feels  never  to  betray 
the  public's  trust  by  appearing  in  a  picture  that  isn't 
perfectly  sweet  and  wholesome.  You  know  how 
strongly  she  feels  about  the  sanctity  of  marriage 
and  the  family  tie ;  how  one  ought  to  confide  every- 
thing to  one's  mother,  because  one  could  never  have 
a  better  friend.  You  know  all  about  Leda  Swan's 
charity  to  the  unfortunate,  the  good  cheer  she  dis- 
penses to  the  discouraged,  how  perfectly  democratic 
and  human  she  is,  despite  her  vast  wealth  and  fame, 
even  to  serv^ants — of  whom  she  has  of  course  an 
enormous  retinue.  You  know  about  her  bubbling 
sense  of  humor  and  what  amusement  she  derives 
from  the  bushels  of  absurd  proposals  of  marriage 
which  she  receives  daily  in  the  mail,  and  yet  how 
careful  she  is  never  to  wound  the  feelings  of  any 
real  admirer,  however  humble.  You  know — and 
this  is  what  you  are  never  allowed  to  forget  on  the 


28  REAL  LIFE 

screen     or     off — her     simple,     unspoiled,     girlish 
simplicity. 

You  cannot  possibly  have  missed  the  letter 
which  appears  ten  or  a  dozen  times  a  year,  answer- 
ing an  inquiry  whether  really  and  truly  she  isn't 
married  and  has  never  fallen  in  love. 

No,  my  dear,  not  yet.  I  am  still  waiting  for  the 
absolutely  right  man  to  come  along.  I  think  I  know; 
a  little  what  he  will  be  like.  I  am  not  sure  that  he 
will  be  handsome — not  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the 
word — though  of  course  he  will  look  handsome  to 
me.  But  he  will  be  brave  and  true  and  utterly  sin- 
cere. He  will  be  a  hundred  per  cent.  American.  I 
think  he  will  have  fought  for  his  country,  at  least 
in  his  heart.  A.nd  then  he  must  be  the  one  who  was 
meant  for  me.  I  think  it  is  a  frightful  mistake  not 
to  wait  until  you  are  absolutely  sure  of  that,  don't 
you?  Or  to  be  so  impatient  just  to  get  married  that 
one  takes  the  first  man  who  comes  along.  I  have 
had  to  say  "No"  a  great  many  times  of  course  and 
it  has  often  been  very  hard  to  do.  Of  course,  wait- 
ing isn't  so  hard  for  me  because  I  am  blessed  with 
such  a  wonderful  mother.  We  are — well — every- 
thing to  each  other.  Just  pals,  you  know;  the  best 
pair  of  pals  that  ever  lived,  I  think,  though  I  hope 
there  are  lots  of  other  girls  who  think  that  about 
their  mothers  too.  Some  people  have  said  that  the 
reason  I  cannot  fall  in  love  with  anybody  in  par- 
ticular is  because  I  love  all  the  world  so  much. 
Well,  I  do  love  it  and  everybody  in  it.  All  the  mil- 
lions and  millions  of  people  who  go  to  see  my  pic- 
tures and  come  away  loving  me  just  a  little.     But 


PARENTHESIS  29 

some  day  I  believe  the  right  man  will  come  along, 
and  then  you  will  know  all  about  it. 

You  will  agree,  I  think,  that  it  would  be  gilding 
the  lily  to  attempt  to  add  anything  to  that ;  and  for 
a  while  the  Princess  felt  that  way  about  it  herself. 
The  letter  had  been  making  occasional  appearances 
for  perhaps  a  year  before  it  was  ever  brought  to 
her  attention,  and  when  she  first  read  it,  it  was  so 
beautiful  that  it  made  her  cry.  For  months  after 
that  experience  the  Leda  Swan  column  had  no  more 
enraptured  reader  than  Leda  Swan  herself. 

It  was  a  queer  sort  of  mirror-gazing,  and  it 
remained  delightful  until  from  somewhere,  at  the 
instigation  of  some  unseen,  lurking  serpent  in  the 
garden,  the  misgiving  arose — how  shall  I  put  it? — 
as  to  which  image  was  the  mirrored  one  and  which 
the  real.  The  two  images  moved  together,  laughed, 
sighed,  had  their  hair  brushed.  But  on  which  side 
of  the  mirror  were  all  these  appropriate  motions 
initiated?  Was  the  mirrored  Leda  Swan  who  was 
always  so  pretty  and  so  nice,  so  gay  and  so  sweet, 
whose  thoughts  and  impulses  as  well  as  acts  were 
so  infallibly  such  as  fitted  her  to  be  the  ideal  of 
unspoiled  young  girlhood  for  all  the  world — was 
that  image,  mirrored  so  persistently  on  the  screen, 


30  REAL  LIFE 

in  the  column,  even  in  the  great  tripartite  looking- 
glass  above  the  dressing-table  in  her  own  chamber, 
herself?  Or  was  there  somewhere,  inarticulate  and 
ignored,  another  self  she  never,  in  any  mirror,  saw 
at  all? 

Consciousness,  the  philosophers  tell  us — at  least 
some  of  them  do,  I'm  sure,  since  it  is  exactly  the  sort 
of  thing  some  philosopher  would  say — conscious- 
ness is  just  a  matter  of  frustration.  So  long  as  you 
get  what  you  want  by  the  mere  instinctive  gesture 
that  accompanies  wanting  it,  you  are  conscious 
neither  of  what  it  was  you  wanted  nor  of  how  you 
got  it.  Unless  you  encounter  a  little  roughness  or 
resistance  somewhere,  a  refractory  object  that  says 
simply  "No"  to  your  intention,  you  can  float  along 
indefinitely  in  a  fleece-lined  trance. 

Thanks  to  Ma's  marvelous  engineering  the 
Princess  had  been  sliding  along  in  her  well-lubri- 
cated ways  with  hardly  more  opportunity  for  self- 
conscious  thought  than  a  reciprocating  member  of 
a  steam  engine.  When  a  director  had  to  be  quar- 
reled with  Ma  did  it  privately.  All  the  Princess 
was  aware  of  was  the  disappearance  into  nothing- 
ness of  the  actor  she  didn't  like  or  the  remodeling  of 
a   part   which   she   had    felt   to   be   unsympathetic. 


PARENTHESIS  31 

When  it  came  to  contact  with  outsiders,  indirectly 
through  the  representatives  of  the  press,  or,  more 
rarely,  through  a  purely  social  function  when 
especially  favored  persons  in  a  highly  nervous  state 
were  permitted  to  pay  their  homage,  to  clasp  the 
Princess's  hand  and  hear  their  name  pronounced  to 
her,  and,  sitting  on  the  edges  of  their  chairs,  to  tell 
her  how  wonderful  she  was  (so  that  afterward  they 
could  boast,  "I  met  her  once,  you  know!  She's 
really  awfully  nice — just  as  simple  and  unaffected 
as  can  be!").  Ma  was  always  there  to,  as  it  were, 
dress  the  window,  prompting  her  to  say  this, 
reminding  her  of  that,  quoting  what  Senator  or 
Judge  or  General  So-and-So  had  written  to  her 
about  her  last  picture. 

As  for  her  entourage,  they  were,  with  a  single 
exception,  selected  for  their  diplomatic  and  lubricat- 
ing qualities.  The  exception  was,  it  may  be  con- 
ceded, one  of  Ma's  mistakes. 

Yet  he  was  invaluable,  and  the  qualities  which 
might  have  made  him  dangerous  seemed  pretty  well 
overlaid  by  the  humilities  of  a  broken  spirit  which 
failure  had  imposed  upon  him.  He  had  at  one 
time  belonged,  no  doubt,  to  that  superior  class  of 
persons,  whom  Ma  could  not  abide,  who  knew  too 


32  REAL  LIFE 

much;  who  contrived  to  imply  even  in  the  simplest 
of  their  attitudes  and  judgments  a  sneer;  who  read 
incomprehensible  books,  yet  professed  themselves 
utterly  unable  to  account  for  Harold  Bell  Wright; 
who  listened  to  impossible  music  with  pleasure,  but 
writhed  at  "The  Rosary"  and  "Somewhere  a  Voice 
Is  Calling;"  who,  to  sum  up  their  damnation  in  a 
single  phrase,  thought  they  were  smart. 

Walter  Patrick,  as  Ma  was  resentfully  aware, 
had  once  belonged  to  this  class.  He  had  been  sort 
of  a  critic  or  editor  on  an  unreadable  highbrow 
weekly;  he  had  written,  she  thought,  a  book.  His 
inability  to  make  a  living  at  these  pursuits  had 
drawn  him  into  the  fringes  of  the  motion-picture 
world,  but  he  had  a  way  of  producing  every  now 
and  then  a  real  idea.  It  was  he,  for  example,  who 
had  invented  for  Ma's  half-fledged  duckling  of  a 
daughter  the  inspired  name  Leda,  which  had  four 
letters  just  as  Swan  had  and  could  be  seen  even 
then,  with  the  eye  of  faith,  gleaming  wonderfully 
in  electric  lights.  He  hadn't  any  precisely  desig- 
nated duties,  but  he  hung  about  on  the  lot  when 
the  Princess  was  working  and  occasionally  confided 
to  Ma  (never  to  anyone  else)  a  suggestion.  When 
the  continuity  for  a  new  picture  was  put  into  Ma's 


PARENTHESIS  33 

hands  she  always  turned  it  over  to  him  to  read  and 
listened  noncommittally  when  he  told  her  what  he 
thought  of  it.  He  turned  up  with  extraordinarily 
precise  information  about  the  necessary  local  color 
for  some  of  the  Princess's  pictures.  He  had  an 
uncanny  talent  for  finding"  stories  in  the  unlikeliest 
places,  and  for  giving"  the  twist  to  an  unworkable 
story  that  made  it  go. 

He  represented,  you  might  say,  Ma's  private 
stock  of  intelligence,  and  as  he  never  put  it  at  the 
disposal  of  anyone  else,  never  tried  to  capitalize  any 
of  his  ideas  into  credit  for  himself,  he  filled  what 
otherwise  would  have  been  an  aching  want. 

In  his  relations  with  the  Princess  herself  there 
was  never  anything  that  even  momentarily  caught 
Ma's  eye  or  awakened  the  faintest  misgiving.  He 
was  rather  shy  with  her,  friendly  enough  of  course, 
but  uncommunicative.  It  was  always  to  Ma  that  he 
talked  when  the  three  of  them  were  together,  and 
he  never  made  the  mistake,  which  had  cost  many  a 
good  man  his  job,  of  trying  to  slip  any  private  lit- 
tle asides  into  the  Princess's  ear.  And  he  was,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  perfectly  unaware  that  he  was  the 
serpent  which  led  the  Princess  to  the  apple  tree. 
There  were  no  wiles  about  it  at  all. 


34  REAL  LIFE 

But  what  she  first  perceived  about  this  very 
humble  member  of  the  household — this  word  is  used 
in  the  sense  in  which  it  is  employed  by  royalty — 
was  that  he  did  not  regard  her  as  everybody  else 
did,  literally  did  not  look  at  her  the  way  they  did. 
If  everybody  else  was  silk  to  her  he  was  a  bath 
towel;  and  if  he  hadn't  been  a  bath  towel  she  would 
not  have  become  aware  that  everyone  else  was  silk. 

Don't  think  that  he  was  rude  to  her.  There  was 
never  anything  in  his  bearing  that  she  could  have 
complained  about  to  Ma.  Indeed  there  was  some- 
thing kind  about  him  that  there  wasn't  about  the 
others. 

Well,  perhaps  that  was  just  it.  How  could  one 
be  kind  to  a  princess  unless,  for  some  perplexing 
reason,  she  didn't  look  to  one  like  a  princess  at  all? 
He  wasn't  laughing  at  her,  was  he  ?  Of  course  not ; 
how  could  he  ?  How  could  anyone  laugh  at  her,  let 
alone  a  shy,  shabby,  self-confessed  failure  like  him? 
Or  did  he  feel  sorry  for  her?  The  supposition  was 
still  more  ridiculous.  Why,  wasn't  she  just  about 
the  gladdest,  gayest  and  most  highly  favored  mortal 
in  the  world  ?  One  had  only  to  read  the  column  to 
be  sure  of  that.  Was  there  a  girl  in  the  whole 
United   States   who  wouldn't   change   places   with 


PARENTHESIS  35 

Leda  Swan  if  she  could?  Well,  she,  the  Princess, 
was  Leda  Swan  herself. 

But  was  she? 

That  was  the  first  bite  of  the  apple.  It  turned 
her  a  little  giddy ;  and  from  that  day  began  the  day- 
dream of  the  Princess ;  a  vague  and  various  sort  of 
dream  at  first  which  acquired  definition  only  slowly. 
But  the  germ  of  it  was  always  a  secret  unknown  per- 
son who  was  not  Leda  Swan;  a  princess  perhaps, 
but  unacclaimed  as  such,  who  went  about  unknown 
and  disregarded;  an  orphan  like  Sara  Crewe  or 
Pollyanna. 

Only  her  dream  didn't  end,  like  Pollyanna's  or 
Sara  Crewe's,  with  a  rich  elderly  gentleman  devot- 
ing himself  to  her.  Her  dream  ended  with  a  prince, 
who  was  not  to  discover  that  she  was  a  princess 
until  he  had  told  her  that  he  loved  her.  And  even 
that  ending  she  was  in  no  hurry  to  come  to;  it 
wasn't  the  best  part  of  her  dream.  The  best  part 
of  her  dream  was  the  adventures,  the  light-hearted, 
irresponsible  adventures  when  she  herself  forgot 
that  she  was  Leda  Swan. 

Of  course,  before  it  could  begin  the  greatest 
adventure  of  all  must  be  brought  off — the  escape 
somehow  from  Ma;  the  emergence  all  by  herself, 


36  REAL  LIFE 

unchaperoned,  unlimouslned,  just  in  an  ordinary- 
hired  taxi  or  perhaps  even  afoot,  into  the  dimly  sur- 
mised world  where  common  people  lived. 

And  then,  effortlessly,  all  by  itself,  the  thing 
came  off.  The  new  contract  had  just  been  signed — 
the  contract  all  the  newspapers  were  ringing  with. 
The  new  super-de-luxe  million-dollar  production 
with  which  Leda  Swan,  Incorporated,  was  to  inaug- 
urate its  heliacal  career  was  yawning  in  Hollywood 
for  the  physical  presence  of  Leda  Swan  herself. 
Transportation,  including  a  private  car,  had  been 
engaged  across  the  continent  and  the  bulletin  given 
out  to  the  Associated  Press ;  city  editors  in  Chicago, 
where  the  run  was  to  be  broken  in  favor  of  a 
night's  sleep,  had  already  assigned  to  reporters  the 
job  of  meeting  the  train.  And  then — on  that  very 
morning  Ma  found  that  she  couldn't  get  out  of  bed ! 
"Nothing  but  lumbago,"  the  hastily  summoned  staff 
of  physicians  informed  her,  but  a  lumbago  so 
intense  as  to  be  absolutely  paralyzing. 

At  noon  they  told  the  Princess  that  it  had  been 
decided  she  was  to  cross  the  continent  without  her 
mother.  That  wonderful  woman's  place  at  her  side 
was  to  be  taken  by  a  newly  engaged  social  secre- 
tary.    It  is  appalling  to  think  of  the  agonies  Ma 


PARENTHESIS  37 

must  have  suffered  before /she  assented  to  any  such 
arrangement. 

The  Princess  bade  her  mother  a  tearful  farewell 
(it  certainly  made  a  touching  scene  as  reported  in 
the  afternoon  papers,  and  I  see  no  sufficient  reason 
for  tearing  the  veil)  and  found  herself  a  little  later 
leaving  that  inseparable  lady  behind  at  a  smooth, 
persistent  forty  miles  an  hour.  In  an  abstraction 
which  her  new  chaperon  found  it  impossible  to 
break  (by  dinner-time  she  had  begun  to  think  the 
girl  was  really  an  idiot)  she  sat  gazing  out  of  the 
drawing-room  window  at  the  slipping,  rotating 
landscape  of  up-state  New  York,  contemplating  this 
miraculous  deliverance  with  a  suffocating  joy 
hardly  to  be  distinguished  from  terror.  She  was 
alone  at  last.  It  was  a  qualified  solitude  to  be  sure, 
with  a  chaperon,  a  courier-secretary  and  a  maid, 
but  Ma's  absence  created  a  void  no  mere  numbers 
could  fill. 

The  Princess  was  alone, "  and  the  refrain  the 
rails  sang  to  her  all  that  night  was  "Now  or  never!" 
The  resolution  she  had  come  to  next  morning  when 
she  rolled  up  her  shade,  packed  her  pillows  and 
gazed  out  upon  the  fields  of  Indiana  was  "Now!" 
This  very  day,  in  the  city  of  Chicago,  the  great 


38  REAL  LIFE 

deed  shoiild  be  done.     She  would  go  somewhere, 
she  would  do  something,  all  by  herself! 

She  tried  a  few  experiments  on  Miss  Smith, 
expressed  two  or  three  hastily  invented  preferences 
and  found  to  her  delight  that  they  had  the  validity 
of  orders.  But  she  submitted  tractably  to  the  elab- 
orate routine  of  installation  in  the  Chicago  hotel; 
and  she  saw  the  reporters  at  two,  as  had  been 
arranged  by  telegraph  from  New  York. 

"Don't  you  think.  Miss  Swan,"  her  chaperon 
said  when  they  had  gone,  "that  you  had  better  rest 
awhile?    I  am  afraid  you're  a  little  excited." 

The  Princess  looked  at  her  watch.  It  was  just 
half-past  two. 

"I'm  going  to  lie  down,"  she  said,  "until  five 
o'clock.  You  said  you  wanted  to  do  some  shopping 
here  in  Chicago.  I  think  you  might  as  well  go  now. 
My  maid  can  look  after  me  if  I  want  anything." 

She  held  her  breath  until  Miss  Smith  assented 
to  this  program. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  wait,"  she  added,  through  a 
yawn.  "I  have  already  rung  for  Barton."  Bar- 
ton was  her  maid. 

It  was  a  breathless  moment,  for  Barton  had 
already    been    dismissed    for    the    afternoon.      Ma 


PARENTHESIS  39 

would  never  have  stirred  a  step  until  she  had  seen 
the  maid  come  in  and  accept  the  responsibility  of 
sentry  duty.  This  wasn't  distrust — it  was  just  Ma's 
perfected  technique. 

Miss  Smith  was,  I  think,  vaguely  aware  that 
the  situation  wasn't  watertight.  Ten  minutes  later, 
after  an  excursion  to  her  own  room  for  her  hat  and 
coat  and  a  shopping-list,  she  knocked  at  the 
Princess's  chamber  door,  and,  in  response  to  a  sleepy 
invitation,  entered  to  find  her  charge  in  bed  and 
covered  to  the  chin.  This  satisfied  her  and  she 
went  away. 

Before  the  elevator  door  had  clashed  behind  her 
the  Princess  was  out  of  bed,  putting  on  her  shoes. 
She  was  trembling  a  little  with  excitement,  but  this 
did  not  cause  her  to  fumble  even  the  unfamiliar 
processes  of  a  maidless  toilet.  In  a  shorter  time 
than  Miss  Smith  just  now  had  needed  for  the  accom- 
plishment of  a  good  deal  less,  she  was  dressed, 
hatted,  veiled,  ready  for  her  adventure. 

There  was  a  flight  down  the  corridor  to  the 
bronze  doors  whose  position  she  had  carefully 
marked  when  she  entered  the  hotel;  the  agonized 
wait  for  a  descending  car;  a  moment  of  unbetrayed 
panic  while  she  braved  the  publicity  of  the  white 


40  REAL  LIFE 

marble  lobby  and  slipped  past  the  liveried  doorman 
without  daring  a  glance  to  determine  whether  he 
had  seen  her  or  not.  She  had  a  wild  apprehension 
that  if  he  did  see  her  he  would  reach  out  a  long 
arm  and  drag  her  back. 

And  then  with  a  thrilled  intoxication  she  real- 
ized that  she  had  escaped.  She  was  walking  down 
the  street  alone.  The  world,  busy  with  its  multitu- 
dinous affairs,  went  on  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
Men,  women,  youths  of  both  sexes,  singly,  in  pairs, 
in  little  groups  of  three  or  four,  overtook  her, 
passed  her,  turned  out  for  her,  lingered  before  show 
windows  and  went  on  again  exactly  as  if  she  had 
been  merely  one  of  them.  Why,  she  was  one  of 
them — ^just  an  unregarded  unit  in  the  throng! 

Well,  there  you  are.  You  know  now  all  the 
essential  facts,  I  think,  that  led  to  the  flight  of  the 
Princess. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  PRINCESS 

IT  WAS  hanging  by  the  sheerest  thread,  as  the  taxi 
trundled  down  the  boulevard,  whether  the  Prin- 
cess would  not  direct  it  to  her  hotel,  only  a  few 
squares  away,  and  thus  truncate  her  adventure  just 
when  it  had  so  miraculously  well  begun.  Even  an 
adverse  gesture  by  a  traffic  policeman  at  any  of  the 
crossings  would  have  had  a  determining  influence. 

She  was — it  cannot  be  denied — frightened,  as  no 
one  could  help  being  when  an  incredible  daydream 
took  the  guise,  all  at  once,  of  literal  fact.  Ten  min- 
utes ago,  rather  tired  of  her  pedestrian  adventure 
among  the  common  people  in  the  downtown  streets, 
the  bloom  of  novelty  already  rubbed  off  it,  she  had 
been  upon  the  point  of  beginning  to  smile  at  that 
dream  as  an  infantile  illusion,  of  heaving  an  adult 
world-weary  sigh  over  her  lost  youth.  The  phrase 
"Too  late!"  had  hovered  upon  her  lips.    And  here, 

41 


42  REAL  LIFE 

beyond  the  wildest  of  her  dreams,  was  the  actuality. 
The  most  beautiful  man  she  had  ever  seen,  the  most 
utterly  different  from  all  the  rest  of  the  species — 
the  one  with  whom  she  had,  she  suspected,  fallen  in 
love  at  first  sight — owed  his  life  to  her  and  was  now 
eloping  with  her  in  a  taxi.  It  was  not  likely  that 
they  were  pursued,  and  yet  she  had  distinctly  the 
sensation  of  it. 

Exactly  balancing  her  fright  was  a  most  deli- 
cious curiosity  as  to  what  he  would  do ;  or  rather,  as 
to  how  he  would  do  the  only  possible  thing.  He  had 
fallen  in  love  with  her,  no  doubt — that  was  unescap- 
able,  wasn't  it,  in  the  circumstances  ?  But  would  he 
attempt  to  hide  the  fact  under  a  cloak  of  mere  grati- 
tude ?  How  would  he  be  affected  by  the  realization 
that  the  person  he  loved  and  owed  his  life  to  was  as 
remotely  unattainable  to  him  as  the  stars?  What 
coidd  a  man  do  or  say  whose  life  had  just  been  saved 
by  Leda  Swan  ? 

What  carried  the  Princess  past  her  hotel  and  so 
fairly  committed  her  to  the  adventure  was  the  fact 
that  for  a  matter  of  minutes  he  did  nothing  at  all, 
but  sat  huddled  down  in  his  corner  like  one  in  a 
trance.  She  wondered  if  anything  could  be  the  mat- 
ter with  him,  if  the  shock  of  his  narrow  escape  from 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  PRINCESS      43 

death  had  perhaps  destroyed  his  memory.  This, 
according  to  the  only  Hterature  she  knew,  was  an 
almost  commonplace  accident. 

The  next  move,  by  all  the  accepted  rules  of  the 
game,  was  with  him,  but  if  he  did  not  know  who  or 
where  he  was  he  could  not  be  held  accountable  to  the 
rules. 

She  stole  a  glance  at  him  and  saw  him  preoccu- 
pied apparently  with  his  own  hands,  flexing  the 
fingers  and  the  wrists,  gripping  his  forearms  in  an 
exploratory  manner.  Once  her  attention  was  drawn 
to  them  those  hands  fascinated  her:  she  had  never 
seen  a  pair  like  them.  They  were  not  beautiful  by 
the  standard  she  had  always  applied  to  hands,  not 
the  conventional  oval  with  pointed  fingers;  the  fin- 
gers were  long,  but  they  seemed  actually  to  broaden 
out  at  the  tips.  She  observed  that  they  were  exquis- 
itely cared  for  and  that  somehow  they  had  avoided 
the  mud  altogether.  This  made  her  own  feel  grubby 
and  she  hid  them  under  the  folds  of  her  skirt. 

"Did  you  get  hurt  anywhere  when  I  knocked  you 
down?"  she  asked. 

"It  is  a  miracle,"  he  said  slowly.  "I  think  I  am 
not  hurt  at  all." 


144  REAL  LIFE 

Why,  he  was  a  foreigner!  His  speech,  though 
not  exactly  broken,  made  this  fact  unmistakable. 
She  might  have  known  it  from  his  looks  for  that 
matter,  because,  beautiful  as  he  was,  he  did  not, 
somehow,  in  the  least  resemble  Bryant  Washburn. 

She  was  for  an  instant  dismayed.  A  foreigner 
couldn't  be  a  hero,  could  he  ?  Weren't  they  always 
dangerous  mercenary  deceivers?  Should  a  girl 
listen  to  their  wiles,  their  romantic  but  insincere 
protestations,  did  she  not  always  bitterly  regret  it? 
Wasn't  her  plight  desperate  indeed,  unless  some 
honest,  homespun  American  boy  like  Charles  Ray 
happened  to  come  to  her  rescue  ? 

Yet  it  must  be  there  were  differences,  even 
among  foreigners.  Had  he  been  running  true  to 
form  this  boy,  minutes  ago,  would  have  been  on 
his  knees  on  the  floor  of  the  taxi,  one  hand  on  his 
heart,  the  other  reaching  for  hers  to  press  a  kiss 
upon  the  back  of  it 

But  he — he  didn't  seem  to  care  even  whether  she 
had  been  hurt  or  not.  The  only  concern  he  had 
shown  up  to  now  was  an  ability  to  move  those  queer, 
beautiful  hands  of  his.  A  hot  resentment  burned  in 
her  next  words. 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  PRINCESS      45 

"Oh,  well,  of  course  if  you  aren't  hurt  that's  all 
that  matters !" 

He  did  not,  she  thought,  instantly  perceive  the 
satirical  sense  of  that,  not  even  with  the  heavily- 
stressed  "you"  to  point  it  out  to  him.  Then  she  saw 
that  his  hands  were  trembling  and  that  a  slow,  deep 
flush  was  beginning  to  suffuse  his  face.  She  felt  an 
answering  warmth  color  her  own  cheeks  as  he 
answered : 

"I  think  you  have  save  my  life  at  the  great  risk 
of  your  own.  But  I  am  still  unbelieving  with  sur- 
prise. It  all  happen  so  very  quick — out  of  nowhere. 
You  move  so  sure,  so  exactly  right — not  like  a 
woman — while  I  am  all  distract.  But  I  think  be- 
cause you  come  to  help,  that  great  engine  might  have 
killed  you  as  well  as  me." 

"Oh,  that  was  nothing,"  said  the  Princess, 
hastily  because  she  found  she  was  trembling  now, 
especially  about  the  lips.  She  essayed  a  laugh. 
"That  used  to  be  my  regular  stuff,"  she  concluded. 

He  repeated  "regular  stuff"  just  as  an  echo; 
then,  satisfied  that  he  knew  what  it  meant,  dissented 
vigorously.  "No — no,  that  was  not  regular  stuff. 
That  was  heroique!" 

At  that  the  Princess  was  appalled  by  the  discov- 


46  REAL  LIFE 

ery  that  she  was  going  to  cry ;  she  did  not  know  why, 
but  she  couldn't  help  it  There  was  something  so 
beautiful  about  the  dignity  with  which  he  had 
answered  her  taunt;  there  was  something  beautiful 
about  his  funny  speech  that,  all  by  itself,  made  a 
lump  come  in  her  throat — ^made  her  feel  small  and 
utterly  forlorn. 

"You  weep!"  he  cried  in  a  tone  of  acute  distress. 
"You  think  I  am  ingratel  You,  too,  think  I  am 
nothing  but  a  machine ;  but  that  is  where  they  make 
their  mistake.  Is  that  what  make  you  cry,  because 
you  think  I  do  not  care?" 

The  Princess  pressed  her  lips  together  and  tried 
to  hold  her  breath,  but  it  only  made  the  next  sob  all 
the  worse.  The  tears  were  trickling  down  her  face, 
and  she  felt  vaguely  about  her  for  the  mesh  bag  that 
had  her  handkerchief  in  it.  Failing  to  find  it  she 
instinctively  brought  her  left  arm  around  so  that  its 
•leeve  might  serve. 

But  it  was  that  arm  of  hers  that  had  been  be- 
tween him  and  the  pavement,  and  its  torn,  mud- 
saturated  sleeve  could  not  answer  even  a  need  as  dire 
as  that  of  the  Princess.  The  childlike  gesture,  how- 
ever, disclosed  a  state  of  things  of  which  she  had  not 
been  aware,  and  horrifying  to  him.     There  was 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  PRINCESS      47 

blood  as  well  as  mud-streaks  on  the  forearm — glass 
cuts  from  the  smashed  crystal  of  her  watch,  which  in 
a  deplorable  state  of  ruin  dangled  from  her  wrist. 

With  an  inarticulate  outcry  he  gazed  at  that 
ensanguined  spectacle  as  one  might  gaze  at  the  field 
of  a  yesterday's  battle ;  then  he  whipped  out  a  large 
white  handkerchief. 

"It  is  terrible  that  you  are  so  wounded,"  he  said. 
"But  we  are  taking  you  home  quickly?  You  live 
not  far?" 

"I  live  in  California,"  she  sobbed,  the  mere  mo- 
mentum of  her  weeping  not  yet  l^ing  quite  spent. 
But  that  sounded  so  ridiculous  that  she  laughed  at 
the  same  time. 

"California !"  he  gasped.  "A  hospital  then !  Do 
you  know  where  one  is  ?  Ah,  he  will  know !"  and  he 
leaned  forward,  intent  on  hailing  the  chauffeur. 

But  she  grasped  him  with  muscular  decision  and 
hauled  him  back  on  to  the  seat. 

"Don't  be  foolish!"  she  commanded.  "A 
hospital  for  two  or  three  little  scratches  like  that! 
My  goodness!  Wouldn't  I  have  just  lived  in  one 
once  if  we  paid  any  attention  to  such  things?" 

"But  you  were  in  great  pain,"  he  argued.  "You 
were  crying." 


j^  REAL  LIFE 

"I  was  not,"  she  contradicted.  "Anyway,  it 
wasn't  about  that.  Really  and  truly  this  isn't  any- 
thing at  all." 

She  did  love,  though,  having  him  so  concerned 
about  her,  and  did  not  retire  the  arm  into  the  back- 
ground again.  She  busied  herself  instead,  and 
called  on  him  to  help,  at  getting  the  handkerchief 
wrapped  around  into  a  sort  of  bandage. 

The  scratches,  insignificant  as  they  were,  did 
bleed  freely,  and  it  wasn't  more  than  a  minute  before 
the  red  stain  showed  through.  He  turned  suddenly 
away  from  her,  dropped  back  limp  against  the 
cushion,  pulled  out  another  handkerchief  and  laid  it 
on  her  knee.  Looking  around  into  his  face  she  saw 
that  he  had  gone  almost  as  white  as  the  linen  itself — 
had  indeed  fainted.  She  cried  out  to  the  chauffeur 
to  stop,  but  just  as  the  squeal  of  the  brake  echoed 
her  cry  she  saw  at  the  curb,  fifty  yards  farther  on, 
a  little  glazed-tile  drinking-fountain. 

"Run  on  to  that,"  she  said.  "I  want  some 
water." 

By  training  as  well  as  by  nature  she  was  extra- 
ordinarily quick.  One  does  not  spend  one's  life 
before  a  camera  without  mastering  a  high  economy 
of  movement.    She  stepped  down  from  the  running- 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  PRINCESS      49 

board  of  the  taxi  before  it  stopped,  and  was  in  her 
place  again  with  the  saturated  handkerchief  in  less 
time  than  it  takes  a  sprinter  to  run  a  hundred  yards. 
But  even  those  few  seconds  sufficed  to  recover  the 
boy  from  his  fainting  fit.  She  found  him  sitting  up, 
gazing  with  an  expression  of  bewilderment  at  a 
brown  taxi,  with  a  coat-of-arms  on  the  panel,  which 
had  just  slid  past  them  and  was  waiting  at  the  cross- 
ing for  the  traffic  policeman's  signal  to  go  ahead. 
He  started  when  she  asked  him  what  the  matter  was, 
and  pressed  his  hands  to  his  eyes. 

"I  thought  I  saw  a  face,"  he  said ;  "one  I  did  not 
wish  to  see." 

The  Princess  quivered.  "A  man  or  a  woman  ?" 
she  asked  him. 

"A  man,"  he  told  her  simply,  adding,  "I  do  not 
know  any  women  except  my  aunt  and  my  many 
rousins." 

"Is  he  in  that  brown  taxi  ?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "I  do  not  think  so.  I  think 
I  dreamed  him." 

The  Princess  nodded.  "You  just  fainted,  you 
know,"  she  said.  "That's  why  I  got  out  and  wet 
this  handkerchief.  You  don't  want  it  now  on  your 
forehead  or  anything,  do  you  ?" 


50  REAL  LIFE 

The  traffic  signal  sounded  just  then  and  the 
Princess  noted  that  the  brown  taxi  jumped  off  as  if 
its  fare  were  in  a  hurry.  But  there  was  nothing 
unusual  about  that. 

As  they,  too,  slid  forward  the  Princess  turned 
sideways  for  a  look  in  the  mirror.  She  laughed  at 
the  mud-streaks  on  her  face. 

"I  guess  a  sort  of  wash  wouldn't  do  me  any 
harm,"  she  remarked;  "get  off  some  of  this  street 
makeup.  If  I  only  had  something  dry  to  wipe  off 
with  afterward." 

Instantly  he  produced  another  handkerchief. 
This  was  the  third,  all  perfectly  fresh.  Was  he 
stuffed  with  them  ?  They  were  the  very  finest  qual- 
ity of  linen,  she  noted.  It  was  on  her  tongue  to  ask 
him  some  jocular  question  about  the  number  of  them 
that  he  carried,  but  she  found  herself  rather  surpris- 
ingly afraid  to.  There  was  a  new  sensation  for  the 
Princess,  if  you  like!  Instead  of  laughing  at  him 
she  put  an  added  touch  of  ceremony  into  her  thanks 
and  then  straightforwardly  set  about  putting  her- 
self to  rights.  She  took  off  her  hat,  rubbed  the  mud 
from  her  face  and  hands,  rearranged  her  hair  a  lit- 
tle, contrived  to  pin  up  the  torn  sleeve,  resumed  her 
hat,  settling  it  at  its  normal  angle  once  more  (it 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  PRINCESS      51 

luckily  had  not  been  damaged),  and  sank  back  beside 
him  again  with  a  sigh  of  comfort. 

*'Do  I  look  more  respectable  now  ?"  she  asked. 

She  had  a  little  more  definitely  than  necessary 
turned  her  back  upon  him  while  she  was  making  her 
toilet,  with  the  idea  of  dramatizing  her  reappearance. 
It  was  in  her  mind  that  he  had  actually  failed  to 
recognize  her. 

What  she  had  jocularly  spoken  of  as  her  street 
makeup  might  well  enough  have  constituted  a  dis- 
guise to  anyone  as  badly  shaken  as  this  boy  had  been 
by  his  experience.  Now  that  he  had  had  time  to  get 
himself  together  again,  and  she  once  more  looked 
like  herself,  things  could  begin  to  happen  between 
them  as  she  had  expected  them  to  from  the  begin- 
ning. And  to  give  matters  a  good  decisive  start  in 
that  direction  she  had,  for  a  gambit,  invited  his 
attention  to  her  restored  appearance. 

She  felt  him  looking  at  her  just  as  intensely  as 
she  could  have  hoped.  She  felt  the  blood  coming 
up  to  her  cheeks ;  she  held  her  breath. 

"I  do  not  know  if  you  are  beautiful,"  he  said. 
"Perhaps  not.  But  I  do  not  care.  I  have  seen  many, 
many  beautiful  women.  They  have  embrace  me. 
They  have  kiss  my  hands.    But  they  have  been  noth- 


52  REAL  LIFE 

ing  to  me.  I  do  not  like.  I  wish  them  kept  away. 
But  you  are  different.  You  have  saved  my  life. 
I  do  not  wish  to  say  'Thank  you'  and  go  away,  be- 
cause you  are  kind.  You  are  my  friend.  So  I  do  not 
care  how  you  look.   Beautiful  or  not,  I  do  not  care." 

He  had  looked  away  from  her  before  he  began  to 
speak  or  he  never  would  have  gone  as  far  as  that, 
for  the  Princess  had  turned  upon  him  a  stare  of 
blank  astonishment,  salted  presently  with  the  mis- 
giving that  he  was  making  game  of  her — that  she 
was  being;  in  a  word,  kidded. 

But  the  perfect  simplicity  of  that  amazing  speech 
was  unmistakable.  He  meant  exactly  what  he  said. 
He  was  telling  the  truth.  Who  was  he  ?  Who  in  the 
wide  world  could  he  be — who  could  sit  beside  Leda 
Swan  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  a  taxi  and  not  rec- 
ognize her,  who  did  not  know  nor  care  whether  she 
was  beautiful  or  not! 

The  Princess  struggled  back  to  consciousness 
again  like  one  emerging  from  a  wave  of  ether.  She 
remarked  just  by  way  of  recovering  her  mental  bal- 
ance that  the  brown  taxi  ahead  seemed  to  be  hesitat- 
ing whether  to  swing  over  to  the  left  for  Drexel  and 
Grand  boulevards  or  to  go  straight  on  south.  It 
chose  the  latter  course  and  their  own  followed  it. 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  PRINCESS      53 

"Do  you  care  which  way  we  go  ?"  she  asked. 

*T  will  go  where  you  go,"  he  said. 

"It  doesn't  make  any  difference  to  me."  She 
was  still  making  conversation,  a  little  desperately. 
"I  only  wanted  him  to  drive  away  quick  out  of  the 
crowd." 

"How  did  you  know,"  he  asked,  "that  I  wanted 
to  get  away  quick  out  of  the  crowd  ?" 

"Did  you? — I  didn't  know  it.  I  wanted  to  get 
away  myself." 

"But  you  must  wish  to  go  somewhere,"  he  per- 
sisted. "And  where,  is  the  thing  I  wish  to  know,  so 
that  when  this  is  finished  it  shall  not  be  the  end." 

The  Princess  steadied  herself  with  a  long  breath 
like  one  preparing  to  detonate  a  mine.  Then  she 
said  very  simply,  "You  will  never  have  any  trouble 
finding  me.    I  am  Leda  Swan," 

He  repeated  the  magic  syllables  slowly  like  one 
exploring  them — tentatively,  not  quite  sure  that  he 
had  got  them  right. 

"It  is  a  beautiful  name,"  he  went  on,  "but  I  am 
not  sure  that  I  will  remember  it.  Will  you  write  it 
in  my  little  book  ?" 

The  world  of  the  Princess  reeled.  Here  was  a 
man  who  had  never  even  heard  of  her ! 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  BROWN  TAXI 

^^'IV^HO,"  she  asked  when  she  had  recovered  the 
W     faculty  of  speech,  of  which  his  astounding 
ignorance  had  bereft  her,  " — who  are  you  ?" 

Her  first  impression  was  that  he  was  as  amazed 
over  her  ignorance  as  she  had  been  at  his.  He  stared 
at  her  for  a  minute  with  dilated,  almost  frightened 
eyes ;  then  he  looked  away,  out  the  window  ahead. 
Deliberately  he  took  off  his  hat  and  laid  it  on  the 
seat  beside  him  and  with  a  gesture  evidently  habitual 
tossed  his  head  and  ran  his  fingers  back  through  his 
hair.  It  was  incredibly  beautiful  hair,  long,  thick, 
fine,  wavy  and  almost  black,  but  it  had  arrived  at 
that  color  through  the  deepening  shades  of  red  so 
that  where  the  light  caught  it  it  showed  a  gleam  of 
copper.  It  made  his  beauty,  she  felt,  almost  too 
poignant  to  be  true  or  endurable.  Involuntarily  she 
gasped  at  it  and  he  looked  around  at  her  again. 
"Who  are  you  ?"  she  repeated. 

54 


THE  BROWN  TAXI  55 

His  eyes  brightened  with  tears  and  once  more  he 
turned  away,  his  gaze  coming  idly  to  rest  upon  the 
brown  taxicab  which  they  seemed  permanently  to 
have  fallen  in  behind. 

"It  did  not  matter  to  you  who  I  was  when  you 
save  me  from  being  killed,"  he  said,  "nor  when  you 
took  me  away  so  quick  from  that  crowd,  nor  when 
you  stop  for  cold  water  to  put  on  my  forehead  when 
I  was  fainting.  You  did  those  things  because  you 
were  kind — brave  and  kind.  Never,"  he  said  in  a 
tone  so  matter-of-fact  that  it  carried  conviction, 
"never  has  anyone  been  kind  to  me  until — until  Leda 
Swan.  You  see,  I  have  remember  the  name.  It  will 
not  need  that  you  write  it  in  my  little  book." 

"The  people  I  like,"  she  said,  "don't  call  me  that. 
They  call  me  Princess." 

"May  I  call  you  Princess  ?" 

She  nodded.  "But  you  have  not  told  me  your 
name  yet,"  she  said. 

"My  name,"  he  said  pronouncing  the  syllables 
very  carefully,  "is  Bill  Lawrence." 

The  color  flamed  into  the  Princess's  cheeks — 
the  red  flag  of  anger,  of  outrage,  that,  after  all  his 
professions  of  friendship  and  trust,  he  should  try  to 
Impose  upon  her  with  an   impudent  lie  like  this! 


56  REAL  LIFE 

Bill  Lawrence!  When  he  couldn't  even  pronounce 
it  properly !     Bill ! 

He  had  been  lying  to  her  straight  along  from  the 
beginning  most  likely.  Why,  of  course  he  had! 
Hadn't  he  said  one  minute  that  he  knew  no  women 
except  his  aunt  and  cousins,  and  told  her  the  next 
about  the  beauties  who  had  kissed  his  hands  despite 
his  wish  that  they  be  kept  away  from  him?  He 
might  have  been  a  prince  to  talk  like  that — a  real 
prince  with  a  throne  and  a  sceptre.  A  prince  named 
Bill  Lawrence!  He  couldn't  have  expected  to  im- 
pose upon  her  with  that !  He  was  laughing  at  her — 
had  been  laughing  at  her  all  the  while ! 

No,  he  hadn't.  That  was  a  conclusion  to  which 
the  Princess,  hurt  as  she  was  by  his  lack  of  faith  in 
her,  couldn't  force  her  mind.  She  had  seen,  just 
now,  tears  in  his  eyes.  She  realized  with  dismay 
that  in  another  minute  they  would  come  back  into 
her  own  unless  something  happened.  But  some- 
thing, at  precisely  that  moment,  did. 

The  first  two  or  three  events  were  noted  by  the 
Princess  merely  because  she  was  trying  to  distract 
her  attention  and  thus  head  off  her  tears.  It  was 
not  indeed  until  her  companion's  outcry  that  she 
woke  to  the  importance   of  current   events.     The 


THE  BROWN  TAXI  57 

brown  taxi  was  nothing  to  her  when  she  began  look- 
ing at  it,  but  since  it  was  slowing  down  as  if  it 
meant  to  stop  right  out  there  in  the  middle  of  the 
boulevard  it  was  as  well  worth  looking  at  as  any- 
thing else.  Their  own,  of  course,  was  pulling  out 
to  the  left  to  pass  it,  and  as  they  came  alongside  she 
perceived  that  another  yellow,  precisely  like  their 
own  and  perhaps  a  hundred  yards  ahead,  seemed  to 
have  something  to  do  with  the  indecisive  actions  of 
the  brown  one. 

All  it  had  performed  was  the  eminently  natural 
maneuver  of  responding  to  a  hail  from  the  sidewalk, 
swinging  smartly  around  in  a  semicircle  and  pulling 
up  to  the  northbound  curb;  but  this  act  seemed  to 
cause  an  immense  perturbation  in  the  brown  taxi. 
The  chauffeur  was  leaning  back  to  talk  over  a 
shrugged  shoulder  to  his  passenger.  The  passenger, 
on  the  extreme  edge  of  his  seat  and  leaning  forward 
as  far  as  he  could  stretch,  was  pointing,  gesticulat- 
ing, shouting  in  a  cold  fury,  as  if  that  other  yellow 
cab  had  just  caused  him  an  intolerable  disappoint- 
ment. 

He  looked,  the  Princess  thought,  like  an  anar- 
chist, a  Russian  spy,  a  blackhand  agent.  His  bushy 
black  hair  and  mustachios,  beetling  brows,  beady, 


58  REAL  LIFE 

protuberant  eyes  and  dead  white,  unwholesome  skin 
comprised  the  invariable  makeup  of  persons  of  that 
unpleasant  character.  He  was  a  foreigner,  too,  for 
what  he  was  shouting  at  the  chauffeur  as  they  came 
up  into  ear-shot  didn't  even  pretend  to  be  English. 
It  made  the  Princess  feel  as  if  she  were  out  on  loca- 
tion, taking  a  picture,  and  she  had  even  felt  the 
worried  flash  "Is  the  camera  getting  all  this  ?"  when 
she  was  brought  back  to  actuality  by  the  cry  of  ter- 
ror from  the  boy  at  her  elbow. 

This  happened  exactly  as  they  were  pulling 
alongside.  What  the  boy  started  and  cried  out  at 
was  not  the  sight  of  the  foreign  spy  in  the  brown 
cab — for  he  wasn't  looking  that  way — but  the  sound 
of  his  voice.  It  was  as  instantaneous  and  automatic 
as  if  someone  had  run  a  needle  into  him,  and  as  part 
of  the  same  impulse  he  whipped  around  in  his  seat 
and  encountered  the  stare,  which  his  cry  had  at- 
tracted, of  the  man  in  the  brown  taxi. 

The  scream — it  is  hardly  an  exaggeration  to  call 
it  that — produced  one  more  automatic  result.  Both 
chauffeurs  heard  it  and  came  down  instantly  with 
both  feet  on  clutch  and  brake  pedals,  and  the  two 
taxis  side  by  side  came  checking  to  the  quickest  pos- 
sible stop. 


THE  BROWN  TAXI  59 

The  boy  after  the  merest  instant  cowered  back 
into  his  corner  out  of  range  of  the  spy's  insupport- 
able stare. 

The  spy  with  a  wide  feUne  smile  flung  open  the 
door  of  his  taxi  and  stepped  down  into  the  road, 
although  the  momentum  of  neither  car  was  as  yet 
quite  checked,  and  he  staggered  as  he  met  the 
pavement.  . 

"Drive  on!"  shrilled  the  Princess.  It  is  aston- 
ishing how  quick  she  was.  She  had  darted  forward 
in  almost  the  same  instant  that  the  boy  had  shrunk 
back,  and  her  cry  reached  the  chauffeur's  ears  just 
as  the  spy's  foot  took  the  asphalt.  Her  chauffeur 
was  almost  as  quick  as  she.  He  had  given  her  a 
taste  of  this  quality  before,  and  really  did  not  need 
her  successive  injunction,  "Beat  it  out  of  here !" 

The  yellow  cab  jumped  ahead  in  second,  slid  into 
high  and  was  pelting  away  down  the  boulevard 
under  all  the  gas  it  could  breathe  by  the  time  the 
Princess  had  finished  speaking.  She  folded  down 
one  of  the  extra  seats  and  so  posted  was  able  to  keep 
a  good  lookout  aft  and  be  on  easy  communicative 
terms  with  the  chauffeur  at  the  same  time. 

The  maneuver,  she  saw,  couldn't  have  worked 
better  if  they  had  planned  it.    The  spy  had  been  com- 


6o  REAL  LIFE 

pletely  deceived  by  the  gfood  faith  of  the  yellow  cab's 
intention  to  stop.  It  had  taken  him  several  precious 
seconds  to  make  up  his  mind  to  the  fact  that  they 
really  meant  to  run  away  from  him.  Even  his  own 
cab  had  run  past  him  ten  paces  or  so,  and  it  needed 
a  few  seconds  more  for  him  to  run  after  it  and 
scramble  in.  And  every  one  of  those  seconds  was 
taking  the  yellow  cab  forty  feet  farther  away. 

"Coming  after  us,  is  he?"  inquired  the  chauffeur. 

"I  think  so,"  said  the  Princess.  "Oh,  yes,  he  is, 
he  is !    Can't  you  go  any  faster  ?" 

"You  want  to  lose  him,  do  you  ?  Sure,  I  can  go 
faster  if  you're  anxious  to  get  pinched.  How  far 
behind  is  he  now  ?" 

"About  a  hundred  and  fifty  or  two  hundred 
yards,"  she  told  him.  Then,  with  a  new  efferves^ 
cence  of  excitement  that  almost  bubbled  into  a  laugh, 
"Do  you  suppose  he  will  begin  to  shoot?" 

She  wouldn't  by  that  time  have  been  a  bit  sur- 
prised if  he  had.  But  this  was  evidently  a  startling 
consideration  for  the  chauffeur. 

"Holy  cats!"  he  cried.  "Is  it  as  bad  as  that?" 
But  it  was  evident  that  the  color  of  his  cab  did  not 
enter  into  his  composition. 

"One  of  them  foreign  guys  couldn't  hit  anything 


THE  BROWN  TAXI  6i 

at  that  distance  if  he  did  begin  to  shoot,"  he  assured 
her  in  a  tone  of  encouragement.  "If  I  can  keep  this 
lead  until  we  get  into  the  park  I  can  lose  him  easy- 
enough.    Tell  me  if  he  begins  to  creep  up." 

"He  isn't  gaining  now,  I  don't  think,"  said  the 
Princess  a  little  dubiously. 

"He'll  never  catch  us,"  said  the  chauffeur,  "don't 
you  worry.  We  can  leave  that  guy  like  he  was 
standing  still.  He  has  been  chasing  us  all  the  way 
from  Adams  Street.  I  seen  him  there  by  the  curb 
as  we  started  up.  He  comes  past  us,  see,  when  you 
stop  for  water,  and  picks  up  another  yellow  on 
ahead.  If  you'd  put  me  wise  that  he  was  after  us 
we  could  have  left  him  cold.  I  didn't  know  anything 
about  it  until  we  comes  up  right  alongside.  But  I 
didn't  waste  any  time,  I'll  say,  after  you  screeched." 

"I'll  say  you  didn't!"  answered  the  Princess. 

"Where  are  you  running  away  to?"  the  chauf- 
feur inquired.    "Crown  Point?" 

The  Princess  didn't  know  what  Crown  Point 
was. 

"Oh,  it's  a  place  in  Indiana,"  he  informed  her, 
"where  people  go  to  get  married  mostly." 

She  blushed,  "We  aren't  running  away  to  get 
married,"  she  said,  and  then  looked  quickly  at  the 


62  REAL  LIFE 

boy  to  see  if  he  had  heard,  conscious  of  an  irrational 
throb  of  hope  that  he  had. 

But  he  had  not.  He  was  just  emerging  from  the 
daze  of  terror  into  which  the  baleful  gaze  of  the  man 
in  the  brown  taxi  had  plunged  him.  She  gave  him 
an  encouraging  smile. 

"We  are  going  to  get  away  all  right,"  she  said. 

"Is  he — "  the  boy  asked,  "is  he  coming  after  us 
now  ?" 

She  nodded.  "But  he  isn't  going  to  catch  us," 
she  said.  "We  will  lose  him  in  a  few  minutes  so 
that  he  will  never  find  himself  1" 

"I  will  not  be  taken !"  the  boy  cried.  "I  will  not 
go  back  with  him!  Never!  I  will  let  him  kill  me 
first!" 

The  Princess  quivered.  There  was  an  emotional 
intensity  in  the  words  that  was  altogether  new  to 
her,  that  she  had  never  seen  even  simulated.  The 
fact  that  his  resolution  was  the  flower  of  extreme 
terror  made  it  only  the  more  appealing  to  her. 

Up  to  now,  through  the  entire  adventure,  she 
had  carried  a  sense  which  one  is  sometimes  aware  of 
in  dreams,  that  she  could  dismiss  the  whole  thing 
with  no  more  decisive  an  action  than  a  mere  shake 
of  the  head ;  a  sense  that  it  was  all  happening,  some- 


THE  BROWN  TAXI  63 

how,  with  her  permission.  But  this  cry  of  the  heart 
swept  that  away  altogether.  She  took,  psychically, 
what  amounted  to  a  dive  off  a  springboard  into  un- 
known waters. 

She  resumed,  for  the  moment,  her  seat  beside 
the  boy — only  close  to  him  now — laid  one  arm  across 
his  shoulders  and  with  the  other  hand  possessed  her- 
self of  one  of  his.  It  was  cold  with  excitement,  but 
the  strength  with  which  it  returned  her  grip  aston- 
ished her.  Her  own  was  more  than  a  match  for 
most  of  the  hands  she  encountered,  but  she  had  never 
felt  anything  like  this.  It  was  like  the  clutch  of  a 
drowning  man. 

"Listen,"  she  said.  "He  isn't  going  to  get  you. 
I'm  going  to  see  you  through — if  I  have  to  take  you 
all  the  way  to  Hollywood  with  me." 

"What  is  Hollywood  ?"  he  asked. 

She  stared,  and,  to  get  her  vocal  organs  to  work- 
ing again,  swallowed  once  or  twice.  "It's  where  I 
live,"  she  told  him.  "And  if  anybody  thinks  they 
can  start  anything  rough  out  there  with  a  friend  of 
mine,  I'd  like  to  see  them  try  it." 

She  wasn't  thinking  about  Ma  when  she  made 
that  statement.  She  was  destined  for  a  while  (but 
not  forever)  to  forget  Ma's  very  existence.    Lear- 


64  REAL  LIFE 

ing  that  Napoleonic  lady  out  o£  account,  the  Prin- 
cess's writ  would  have  run,  right  enough.  She  could 
have  guaranteed  immunity  to  the  Crown  Prince 
himself. 

The  confident  security  of  her  promise  carried 
over  at  once  to  the  boy.  She  felt  him  relax  under 
her  arm,  into  it,  indeed,  so  that  she  for  a  moment 
supported  the  whole  weight  of  his  body.  Then  he 
raised  her  hand  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it. 

Respectful,  reverent  even,  as  the  gesture  unmis- 
takably was,  it  startled  and  at  the  same  time  enor- 
mously thrilled  the  Princess.  Except  imder  the  eye 
of  the  camera  (and  also  Ma)  she  had  never  come 
within  sighting  distance  of  getting  her  hand  kissed 
before.  With  an  excellent  appearance  of  compos- 
ure, however,  she  recovered  her  hand,  and  with  an 
injunction  to  sit  low  so  that  he  should  not  be  visible 
through  the  back  window,  returned,  as  it  were,  to 
the  bridge. 

"You'll  have  to  go  faster,"  she  warned  her 
chauffeur,  crisply.    "He's  creeping  up." 

His  answer  was  to  snap  the  cah  around  to  the 
left  upon  a  cross-street  that  had  street-car  tracks  on 
it,  dodge  around  a  truck  and  turn  to  the  right  again 
at  the  next  corner,     "No  use  trying   to   make  a 


THE  BROWN  TAXI  65 

straight  getaway  from  them  big  brownies,"  he  ex- 
plained. "They've  got  more  power,  and  geared 
higher  too.  Look  around  now  and  see  if  he  turns 
after  us." 

"Yes,  here  he  comes!"  she  cried  (she  couldn't 
help  enjoying  this).     "You'd  better  turn  again." 

"You  leave  that  to  me,"  he  admonished  her. 
"This  part  of  town  is  right  where  I  live.  I'll  drop 
him  now  quick  enough !" 

But  as  the  streets  were  uniformly  wide  and 
straight,  and  their  intersections  horribly  far  apart, 
the  strategic  advantages  of  familiarity  were  not 
easily  apparent.  Any  mind  capable  of  comprehend- 
ing a  gridiron  would  be  in  possession  of  all  the  possi- 
bilities. It  was  simply  necessary  to  get  far  enough 
ahead  to  turn  two  successive  corners  without  being 
sighted,  and  this,  it  seemed,  was  what  they  couldn't 
do.  The  chauffeur  after  a  while,  with  a  shake  of  the 
head,  conceded  as  much. 

"You  can't  let  her  out  when  you  have  to  keep 
turning  all  the  while,"  he  said.  "We'll  have  to  get 
into  Jackson  Park,  like  I  said.  — I'll  tell  you  what 
you'd  better  do,  though — you'd  better  pay  me  now, 
a  mile  or  so  beyond  what  the  meter  says,  to  make 


66  REAL  LIFE 

sure.  Then  if  you  get  a  chance  to  drop  out,  I  can 
beat  it  away  empty." 

Wide-eyed  with  sudden  blank  despair,  the  Prin- 
cess gazed  at  his  set  profile.  There  was  something 
firm  about  it,  ruthless.  She  knew  that  what  little 
money  she  had  was  in  her  mesh  bag.  And  the  bag 
was  not  in  the  taxi ;  she  had  lost  it  under  that  motor 
truck. 

"You  see,"  she  began,  against  a  strong  premo- 
nition that  he  wouldn't,  "I've  lost  my  purse.  But — ► 
but  you  know  who  I  am,  don't  you?  — Oh,  don't 
stop!  You  wouldn't  do  that!  Another  minute  or 
two  while  we  talk  can't  matter.  Don't  you  know 
who  I  am?" 

He  stepped  on  the  accelerator  again,  but  his 
words  checked  her  cry  of  gratitude.  "I'll  keep  going 
as  far  as  the  Hyde  Park  police  station,"  he  said. 
*Tt's  no  use,  lady.  I  know  who  you'll  say  you  are, 
all  right.  A  friend  of  mine  drove  Douglas  Fair- 
banks around  town  all  one  afternoon,  and  loaned 
him  three  dollars,  too,  and  read  in  the  paper  that 
night  that  Doug  was  in  Europe." 

"If  you'd  read  today's  papers,  yxju'd  know  that 
Leda  Swan  was  in  town  1"  the  Princess  protested,  on 
the  edge  of  tears. 


THE  BROWN  TAXI  67 

"You've  been  reading  the  papers,  all  right,"  com- 
mented the  chauffeur.  He  was  so  pleased  with  this 
retort  that  it  made  him  feel  better-natured.  "Of 
course  there's  a  chance  that  you're  really  her,"  he 
admitted,  "but  it  don't  look  good  enough  to  me  to 
bank  on."  He  added,  as  he  turned  the  next  corner, 
"Ain't  your  friend  got  any  money,  either?" 

The  Princess  hadn't  thought  of  that,  but  it 
seemed  to  her,  as  she  relayed  the  question  to  the  boy 
who  had  told  her  his  name  was  Bill  Lawrence,  a 
much  more  forlorn  chance  than  the  one  the  chauf- 
feur had  refused  to  take.  Bill  had  been  so  utterly 
resourceless  up  to  now  that  it  seemed  impossible  that 
he  should  provide  so  real  a  help  as  this. 

But  to  her  amazement,  his  face  lighted  eagerly  as 
he  caught  her  import.  "Money!"  he  cried.  "That 
is  nothing.    I  have  much." 

With  both  hands,  simultaneously,  from  both  his 
trousers  pockets  he  began  disgorging  masses  of  bills. 
The  Princess  uttered  a  faint  shriek. 

"Drive  on!"  she  shouted  with  an  ecstatic  wave 
of  the  arm  toward  the  chauffeur.  "We've  got  more 
money  than  you'll  want." 

Then  she  turned  back  to  the  boy.  "Put  it  up," 
she  commanded.    "Give  me  the  smallest  thing  you've 


68  REAL  LIFE 

got  and  put  the  rest  out  of  sight.    You — you  haven't 
been  robbing  a  bank  or  anything,  have  you  ?" 

Selection  seemed  beyond  him;  he  held  out  two 
brimming  hands.  The  Princess  hastily  took  a 
twenty — it  was  the  smallest  thing  she  saw ;  most  of 
them  were  hundreds — and  repeated  more  vehe- 
mently her  injunction  to  put  the  rest  back  in  his 
pockets.  The  sight  of  so  much  real  money  made  her 
head  swim. 

("And  she  with  an  earning  power  of  over  three 
thousand  dollars  a  day  ?"  do  I  hear  you  ask,  incred- 
ulous ?  Ah,  the  three  thousand  a  day  was  the  affair 
of  Leda  Swan,  and,  more  especially,  of  Ma  Swan. 
It  was  a  matter  of  safety-deposit  boxes,  of  stiff  docu- 
ments, of  uncomprehending  signatures  upon  dotted 
lines.  The  Princess,  personally,  lived  upon  a  pin- 
money  allowance — perfectly  inelastic,  too — of  fif- 
teen dollars  a  month;  and  she  seldom  had  a  chance 
to  spend  all  that!)' 

"How  much — "  she  asked  in  a  tone  of  awe, 
*'how  much  have  you  got  there  ?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  he  told  her.  "I  took  what  he 
had  in  his  hands  and  came  away.  It  should  be 
enough,  you  think?" 

"It's   enough   for  anything  I   can   think   of!" 


THE  BROWN  TAXI  69 

gasped  the  Princess.  And  then  irresistibly  the 
question  burst  from  her,  "Does  it  really  belong  to 
you?" 

He  answered  with  the  utmost  vehemence.  "It 
belong  altogether  to  me;  to  no  one  else!  Every 
penny  of  this,  and  much,  much  more.  But  if  this 
that  I  have  is  enough,  they  may  keep  the  rest.  I 
care  nothing  for  that." 

"All  the  same,"  observed  the  Princess  dubiously, 
"it  doesn't  do  to  throw  money  away.  I  wish  we  had 
something  smaller  than  a  twenty  to  give  this  taxi- 
driver." 

She  handed  the  bill  out  the  window  to  the  chauf- 
feur.   "Now  are  you  satisfied?"  she  asked. 

"Sure!"  he  said.  It  was  not  possible  to  score 
over  this  young  man.  "I  knew  you  was  all  right,  all 
the  time."  He  tucked  the  bill  in  one  of  his  pockets 
and  then  allowed  his  manner  to  convey  the  impres- 
sion that  he  was  now,  for  the  first  time,  about  to 
devote  his  entire  attention  to  the  successful  consum- 
mation of  their  flight.  Indeed  he  said,  "You  don't 
have  to  worry  any  more.  I'll  get  you  away  now  all 
right."  But  his  next  remark  was  less  encouraging. 
**That  twenty,"  he  observed,  "will  take  you  a  whole 
lot  further  than  my  gas  will." 


70  REAL  LIFE 

The  Princess  was  beginning  uneasily  to  perceive 
a  lack  of  cohesiveness  about  the  mental  processes  of 
their  ally  and  to  wonder  whether  he  was  really  equal 
to  his  task  or  not;  but  there  was  no  present  possi- 
bility of  swapping  him  for  a  better.  They  were  just 
getting  into  the  park,  anyhow,  and  it  was  easy  to  see 
that  the  curving,  forking  drives,  well  masked  with 
shrubbery,  offered  better  opportunities  than  the  long 
straight  streets  for  keeping  out  of  view  of  the  chase. 
The  only  difficulty  was  that  there  was  no  way  of 
knowing  whether  they  had  actually  given  the  brown 
taxi  the  slip  or  not.  It  might  by  now  be  pursuing 
its  mazy  ways  in  an  entirely  different  part  of  the 
park;  or  it  might  be  a  bare  hundred  yards  behind 
them  ready  to  come  pouncing  down  upon  them  the 
instant  they  stopped.  She  was  upon  the  point  of 
indicating  this  danger  to  him  when  he,  evidently 
inspired  with  an  idea,  took  command. 

"Duck  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  cab,  both  of 
you,"  he  ordered.  "Sit  on  the  floor  so  you  won't 
show.    I'm  going  to  try  something." 

He  sounded,  saying  that,  just  like  a  picture  di- 
rector who  has  thought  of  something  good.  The 
Princess  obeyed  him  automatically,  and  the  boy,  in- 
capable of  resistance,  followed  her  example.    They 


THE  BROWN  TAXI  71 

huddled  down,  tight  and  close,  both  a  little  tremu- 
lous, breathing  quick. 

Well,  it  was  a  good  device,  you  know,  even 
though  the  strictly  limited  intelligence  of  that  chauf- 
feur was  the  parent  of  it.  He  shot  smartly  to  the 
right  around  the  three-way  fork  about  the  base  of 
the  colossal  gilt-bronze  statue  of  the  Republic, 
stopped  in  reverse  (spinning  off  about  four  dollars' 
worth  of  tire  fabric),  backed,  to  the  left,  up  the 
bridge  approach,  shoved  up  his  flag  and  came  rolling 
down  the  incline,  to  the  right  again,  the  perfect  lei- 
surely image  of  an  empty  taxi  that  had  recently  dis- 
charged its  passengers  at  the  bathing  pavilion 
beyond  the  bridge — all  this  just  as  their  brown  pur- 
suer came  flying  around  the  curve.  It  passed  them 
with  a  rush,  taking  the  grade  with  the  roar  of  an 
opened  muffler  cutout,  topped  the  crest  of  the  bridge 
and  disappeared  down  the  other  side. 

Instantly  the  yellow  cab  stopped.  "Now  hop  it !" 
the  chauffeur  cried,  flinging  open  the  door.  "The 
boy  that  drove  that  other  car  was  wise  to  me  all 
right,  and  they'll  be  back  in  a  minute.  I'll  beat  it 
like  I  had  you  with  me  and  lead  'em  back  to  town. 
Good  luck!"  And,  as  he  pulled  away:  "See  you 
later,  Miss  Swan!" 


CHAPTER  V 


TRAPPED 


"r^OR  a  moment  after  the  disappearance  of  the  yel- 
■*■  low  cab  the  pair  of  fugitives  stood  on  the 
sward  at  the  roadside  looking  at  each  other.  The 
boy's  face,  the  Princess  observed,  while  it  had  re- 
tained the  pallor  probably  natural  to  it,  had  come  to 
life  again.  His  eyes  shone,  exultant,  straight  into 
hers. 

"You  have  save  me  twice  within  this  hour,"  he 
said ;  "first  from  the  motor  truck  and  next  from  my 
uncle.  They  are  much  alike,  my  uncle  and  that 
motor  truck,  and  you  have  foil  them  both." 

"Was  that  your  uncle?"  the  Princess  gasped. 
"The  man  who  was  chasing  us?" 

He  nodded  and  laughed.  "Let  us  forget  him. 
He  is  chasing  now  what  you  call  the  wild  goose." 

His  sudden  gaiety  touched  her  heart,  but  car- 
ried no  conviction  to  her  mind.    One  could  not  hope 

72 


TRAPPED  73 

to  get  rid  of  a  wicked  uncle  as  easily  as  that.  Their 
chauffeur's  giiess  that  the  driver  of  the  brown  taxi 
had  penetrated  their  ruse  was  probably  correct.  In 
that  case  there  was  no  time  to  lose.  This  boy  would 
be  recognizable  as  far  as  one  could  see  him.  His 
dress  alone — black  velour  hat,  morning  coat, 
striped  trousers,  patent-leather  shoes  (how  in  the 
world  came  he  to  be  dressed  in  such  a  fashion  on  a 
warm  spring  day,  anyhow?) — made  him,  out  here 
in  the  park,  almost  as  conspicuous  as  the  great  mon- 
ument near  whose  base  they  stood.  She  hated  the 
thought  of  alarming  him  again,  but  there  was  no 
help  for  it. 

"I  guess  we'd  better  hide  somewhere,"  she  said, 
*'until  we're  sure  he  isn't  coming  back  this  way." 

There  came  into  his  face  at  that  just  the  look  it 
had  worn  when  she  had  cast  her  first  glance  at  him, 
there  in  the  mouth  of  the  alley:  the  look  of  half- 
frightened  expectancy  which  one  sees  in  a  child's 
face  at  the  outset  of  a  promising,  untried  game.  He 
took  her  hand. 

"Let  us  hide  then,"  he  said. 

The  Princess  made  no  effort  to  get  her  hand 
away,  though  the  effect  of  the  contact  was  to  pre- 
■\'ent  her  even  from  thinking  where  they  might  go. 


74  REAL  LIFE 

So  they  stood  for  a  moment  casting  about  rather 
blankly.  Then  they  heard  an  approaching  motor 
car  come  pounding  up  the  farther  bridge  incline; 
in  another  instant  it  would  be  over  the  crest.  A 
startled  glance  flashed  from  eye  to  eye  and  they 
plunged  into  the  thicket  behind  them.  They  had 
just  time  to  turn  and  crouch — the  movement  of  the 
branches  was  hardly  stilled — ^when  Indeed  the  brown 
taxi  appeared  on  the  crest,  sped  past  them  without 
checking  and  went  out  of  sight  with  the  curve  cf 
the  drive. 

The  boy,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  instantly  relaxed 
into  an  easier  posture  and  his  hand  once  more 
sought  that  of  the  Princess. 

"But  didn't  you  see,"  she  insisted  in  a  sharp 
whisper  (she  had  yielded  him  her  hand  though; 
somehow  she  couldn't  help  doing  that!),  "didn't  you 
see  that  the  taxi  was  empty?  That  means  your 
uncle  has  got  out  to  look  for  you — unless,"  she 
added  with  a  laugh,  "he  was  sitting  on  the  floor 
like  we  were." 

"No,"  the  boy  said  soberly.  "He  would  not  do 
that.  He  is  too  respectable.  You  are  right;  he  is 
got  out  to  look  for  me." 

But  he  made  no  movement  in  the  direction  of 


TRAPPED  75 

further  flight.  Perhaps  he  was  as  completely  in  the 
thrall  of  that  hand-clasp  as  the  Princess  herself. 
For  another  long  moment  they  remained  huddled 
together,  motionless,  silent.  It  was  the  Princess 
who  drew  away. 

"Well,"  she  demanded,  "what  are  we  going  to 
do?    We  can't  stay  here  like  this!" 

"Why  not?"  he  asked.  "I  do  not  think  he 
would  see  us  here.    These  branches  are  very  thick." 

"Well,  we  can't  anyway!"  she  told  him  with  a 
touch  of  asperity.  "It  says  on  that  board  over  there 
that  people  aren't  allowed  in  the  shrubbery.  If  a 
policeman  came  along  he'd  see  us  all  right !" 

Like  a  very  faint  momentary  echo  out  of  another 
existence  the  consideration  occurred  to  her  of  the 
effect  of  a  newspaper  story  announcing  that  Leda 
Swan  had  been  arrested  in  the  park  for  hiding  in 
the  shrubbery. 

"What  do  you  say  we  do?"  she  asked.  "You 
don't  want  to  be  arrested  by  a  policeman,  do  you?" 

"No,"  he  said.  "That  would  be  very  bad 
because  then  my  uncle  would  come  and  take  me 
away.  I  will  be  obedient  to  you.  Whatever  you 
tell  me  I  will  do." 


yd,  REAL  LIFE 

"But  can't  you  think  of  anything?"  she  cried. 

"No,"  he  said,  so  simply  that  he  provoked  from 
her  an  exasperated  laugh. 

"Well,  then,"  she  said,  "you've  got  to  let  me 
think  for  a  minute." 

He  had  reached  for  her  hand  again,  but  this 
time  the  Princess  denied  it  him.  That  was  really 
why  she  had  said  he  must  let  her  think.  She  sat 
down  on  the  ground  and  firmly  embraced  her  knees. 

What  they  should  have  done,  it  was  plain 
enough  to  her  now,  was  to  flee  the  moment  the 
brown  taxi  had  passed  them,  in  the  direction  it  had 
taken.  The  wicked  uncle  could  have  been  counted 
upon  to  take  two  or  three  minutes  anyhow  for  satis- 
fying himself  that  his  nephew  wasn't  hiding  in  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  the  other  end  of  the  bridge. 
But  those  irrecoverable  minutes  were  now  spent,  and 
the  pair  in  the  thicket  could  not  emerge  with  any 
security  of  not  meeting  him  face  to  face  in  the  open. 

She  turned  to  the  boy,  about  to  speak,  but 
checked  herself  before  she  had  made  a  sound.  He 
was  sitting  quite  close  and  very  still,  his  face  a  lit- 
tle averted  so  that  she  could  see  nothing  of  it  beyond 
the  line  from  cheekbone  to  chin.  He  was  being 
good,  like  a  child  one  has  taken  to  church  and  told 


TRAPPED  'j'j 

he  must  be  quiet.  The  Princess  wanted  to  laugh, 
but  she  was  afraid  if  she  did  she  would  cry  instead. 

She  looked  away  again  and  steadied  herself  with 
a  long  breath.  "How  bad  would  it  be  if  your  uncle 
did  catch  you?"  she  asked.  "You  took  that  money 
away  from  him,  I  suppose.  Would  he  have  you  put 
in  prison?" 

"From  him!"  the  boy  cried.  "No!  I  did  not 
know  he  was  here  until  I  saw  his  face  looking  at 
me." 

"Then  who  was  it  you  took  the  money  from?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  had  never  seen  him  before. 
He  brought  it  to  me  and  I  took  it, — It  was  my 
money,"  he  added. 

"Well,  what  can  your  uncle  do  to  you  then,  if 
you  haven't  done  anything  wrong?"  the  Princess 
insisted  on  being  informed.  "He  can't  kill  you;  he 
can't  hurt  you ;  he  can't  put  you  in  prison — can  he  ?" 

"He  has  keep  me  in  prison  all  my  life,"  the  boy 
said  deliberately.  "Ever  since  I  can  remember.  In 
a — what  you  call — treadmill.  And  now  you  have 
help  me  run  away.  I  will  not  go  back  to  that  tread- 
mill— alive !" 

"But  why  does  he  want  to  keep  you  in  a  tread- 
mill ?    Why  is  he  after  you  now  ?" 


78  REAL  LIFE 

"He  want  me  because  I  make  him  great — big — 
rich.  Without  me  he  is — nothing!  Now  he  have 
ask  too  much.  He  have  cook  the  goose  that  lay  the 
gold  eggs.  I  begin  to  run  off  and  you  help  me. 
You  will  take  me  to  the  place  you  say,  where  you 
can  keep  them  all  away  from  me." 

"Hollywood,  do  you  mean?  But,  silly,  that's 
away  out  in  California!" 

He  flashed  around  upon  her,  a  stricken  look  in 
his  eyes.  "Then  you  did  not  mean  it?"  he  de- 
manded.    "You  were  making  fun?" 

"Oh,  don't  look  like  that!"  she  cried.  "Of 
course  I  wasn't  making  fun!  Only  it's  thousands 
of  miles  to  Hollywood." 

"I  do  not  care,"  he  asserted,  "if  it  is  at  the  end 
of  the  world — so  much  the  better." 

It  was  not,  the  Princess  tried  to  remind  herself, 
a  question  of  the  end  of  the  world,  just  now,  but  of 
Jackson  Park;  of  the  man  who  was  beating  the 
bushes  over  there  across  the  bridge  looking  for 
them;  of  instant  decisions  and  activities.  Yet, 
despite  herself,  all  these  considerations  seemed  as 
unreal  as  singing  reproduced  by  a  phonograph.  All 
she  could  think  of  was  the  one  thing  she  wanted  to 
do  now,  and  presently  with  a  gasp  of  surrender  she 


TRAPPED  79 

did  it — reached  out  her  hand  and  rested  it  upon  the 
boy's  shoulder.  Instantly  he  took  it  in  his  and  laid 
his  cheek  against  it.  The  Princess  felt  as  if  she 
were  dissolving,  somehow. 

"You  make  me  your  friend,"  the  boy  said; 
"that  is  the  only  thing  that  matters." 

"And  yet,"  she  argued,  with  difficulty  because 
she  felt  her  teeth  trying  to  chatter,  "and  yet,  you 
don't  reall/  trust  me.  You  did  not  tell  me  your 
real  name  when  I  asked." 

"It  is  my  real  name,"  he  insisted,  but  without 
looking  around  at  her  this  time.  "I  will  tell  you 
how  that  is.  My  name  is  very  hard  to  say,  so 
when  I  am  in  New  York  and  I  meet  a  lady  who  talk 
my  language  I  ask  her  what  my  name  would  be  in 
American.  I  am  to  be  American  and  I  wish  an 
American  name.  So  she  translate  my  name  into 
American  and  tell  me  it  is  Bill  Lawrence.  That  is 
an  American  name,  is  it  not?" 

"I  see,"  mused  the  Princess.  "Yes,  that's  plain 
United  States  all  right  But,"  she  went  on,  "you 
have  not  told  me  who  you  are,  or — or — anything. 
You  are  keeping  a  secret  from  me." 

He  kissed  her  hand  and  instantly  relinquished 
it. 


8o  REAL  LIFE 

"Yes,"  he  admitted,  "I  keep  a  secret,  if  you  per- 
mit. Not  because  I  do  not  trust,  nor  to  try  if  you 
are  willing  to  trust  me,  but  because  it  is  sweet  to 
me  that  you  should  be  my  friend  not  knowing — for 
a  little  while.  But  if  you  ask  me  to  tell,  then  I  will 
tell  you  everything." 

Once  more  she  experienced  a  moment  of  par- 
alyzing incredulity,  just  as  during  the  first  few 
hundred  yards  of  their  ride  in  the  t^xi,  whether 
anything  that  ran  as  close  to  her  daydreams  as  this 
could  be  true.  A  mysterious  identity  that  she  was 
asked,  for  a  while,  not  to  seek  to  discover,  was  the 
last  ineffable  touch  he  needed  to  make  her  romance 
complete. 

She  might  wonder  and  dream  about  it;  she 
couldn't  help  doing  that.  Mightn't  he  be  a  real 
prince  or  even  a  young  king — shaken  off  his  throne 
by  the  war  or  some  of  these  revolutions  they  were 
having  everj'where?  He  wasn't  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  she  was  sure  of  that — she'd  seen  him.  But 
there  must  be  plenty  more  in  other  countries.  Who 
would  the  wicked  uncle  be,  in  that  case?  The 
usurper  of  the  crown,  perhaps?  No;  that  wasn't 
likely.  He  wouldn't  be  pursuing  the  rightful  heir; 
certainly  not  in  person.     Perhaps  he  was  a  baffled 


.  TRAPPED  8i 

guardian  trying-  to  drag  his  nephew  back  to  the 
throne  which  the  boy's  democratic  nature  had  led 
him  to  renounce.  Or  perhaps — she  gasped  at  this; 
this  almost  must'l^e  true! — perhaps  they  wanted  to 
make  him  marry  someone  he  didn't  love,  for  rea- 
sons of  state;  some  princess  from  a  neighboring 
country — horribly  plain  of  course.  That  might  have 
been  what  he  meant  by  the  treadmill.  They  always 
spoke  of  it  like  that,  didn't  they? 

One  thing  the  Princess  was  determined  about: 
She  wouldn't  pry.  No  machinations,  however  plaus- 
ible, should  betray  her  into  distrust,  into  setting 
traps,  into  asking  questions — even  hinting  at  them. 
That  was  the  way  lots  of  heroines  got  into  trouble, 
all  but  wrecked  the  whole  romance.  They  would 
promise,  just  as  she  was  about  to  do,  to  trust 
through  everything,  to  wait  the  hero's  own  good 
time  for  the  electric  revelation,  and  then  somebody 
trumped  up  a  malignant  lie  or  a  set  of  compromis- 
ing appearances  and  they  lost  their  nerve  and  began 
insisting  upon  explanations  just  at  the  moment, 
most  likely,  when  the  hero  found  it  most  impossible 
to  explain  anything.  The  Princess  wouldn't  do 
that,  she  promised  herself,  whatever  happened. 

All  this  time  he  had  been  waiting;  taking,  it 


S2  REAL  LIFE 

appeared,  her  long  silence  for  indecision,  for  he 
turned  to  her  now  with  an  appealing  look,  "It  is 
not  a  bad  secret  that  I  am  asking  you  to  let  me 
keep,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  it  wasn't  that!"  she  cried.  "I  wasn't  tak- 
ing all  that  time  to  decide.  I  do  trust  you.  You 
needn't  tell  me  anything,  ever — until  you  want  to." 

Their  faces  were  very  close  together  and  their 
€yes  held  fast.  Nothing  but  a  kiss  could  cap  a 
declaration  like  that.  They  took  it,  with  a  gasp 
apiece,  and  then,  very  red  and  scared,  moved  hur- 
riedly apart. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I  think  we'd  better  do,"  the 
Princess  said,  in  an  intensely  matter-of-fact  tone. 
*'l  think  you'd  better  stay  here  for  a  few  minutes 
'while  I  go  scouting  across  the  bridge  to  see  whether 
your  uncle  is  coming  or  not.  If  he  isn't  we  can 
just  go  away  and  take  a  street  car  or  something." 

He  did  not  answer,  and  she  saw  when  she 
glanced  around  at  him  that  he  was  looking  rather 
.sad  over  her  proposal.  So  she  added,  dropping  her 
young-ladylike  manner,  "That's  a  good  plan,  isn't 
it.  Bill?"  She  laughed  at  the  mere  sound  of  that 
and  won  a  smile  from  him. 


TRAPPED  83 

"I  like  that— Bill,"  he  told  her.  "But  I  do  not 
like  that  you  should  go  away." 

"But  we  can't  go  on  just  sitting  here  on  the 
ground,"  she  protested,  "like  the  Babes  in  the 
Woods!" 

"And  let  the  robins  cover  us  with  leaves,"  he 
added. 

She  checked  a  tendency  to  dissolve  once  more 
by  getting  brusquely  to  her  feet.  "It  wouldn't  be 
a  robin  with  us,"  she  said.  "It  would  be  a  sparrow 
cop,  and  he  wouldn't  cover  us  with  leaves,  either!" 

That  joke  went  over  his  head,  but  she  did  not 
linger  to  explain  it. 

"Sit  perfectly  still,"  she  instructed  him.  "I 
won't  be  gone  five  minutes." 

As  you  may  have  inferred  from  her  suggestion 
of  the  possibility  of  their  taking  a  street  car,  the 
Princess  had  completely  forgotten,  in  her  concen- 
tration upon  Bill  Lawrence  and  his  affairs,  that  she 
was  Leda  Swan.  She  picked  her  way  out  of  the 
thicket  and  set  out  at  a  brisk  walk  up  the  bridge 
incline,  aware  of  herself  as  nothing  but  an  incon- 
spicuous scout  possessed  of  the  capital  advantage 
that  the  wicked  uncle,  even  if  she  encountered  him. 


84  REAL  LIFE 

would  not,  in  any  likelihood,  recognize  her.  She 
noted  with  complete  indifference  the  approach  of  a 
group  of  four  or  five  young  girls  on  their  way 
home  from  the  bathing  pavilion,  and  was  for  an 
instant  merely  puzzled  by  the  sensation  her  appear- 
ance caused  among  them.  They  had  started, 
stopped  and  stared  at  her  in  a  perfectly  ingenuous 
astonishment  with  the  most  complete  and  instan- 
taneous accord. 

*'It  is,  I  tell  you !  It  is  Leda  Swan !" 
"Well,  but  look  at  her,  I  tell  you!" 
*'She  must  have  been  in  an  accident." 
"Well,  it's  her  anyway." 

All  that  quite  audibly,  though  in  a  confusion  of 
excited  voices,  came  to  the  ears  of  the  Princess. 
And  as  she  walked  on  with  what  appearance  of  com- 
posure she  could  assume  over  an  emotion  that  was 
mounting  to  panic,  she  was  aware  that  they  were 
slowly  and  perhaps  a  little  doubtfully  following. 
Another  group  farther  along,  whom  she  must  ap- 
proach, already  had  stopped  and  were  staring,  too. 
The  whole  vast  open  space — it  looked  vast  to  her  at 
least — in  front  of  the  pavilion  was  dotted  with  peo- 
ple all  of  whom  would  start  and  stare  and  more  or 
less  come  crowding  up  after  their  first  glimpse  of 


TRAPPED  85 

her.  Had  there  been  any  cover  at  hand  she  would 
have  bolted  for  it  like  a  frightened  rabbit. 

The  only  shelter  of  any  sort  in  sight  was  the 
pavilion  itself,  and  she  headed  toward  it,  walking  as 
rapidly  as  she  could  without  conveying  an  appear- 
ance of  haste.  It  took  all  her  self-control  to  keep 
from  breaking  into  a  run. 

The  panic  receded  a  little,  however,  as  she 
walked  along.  Nobody  actually  followed  her  very 
far.  Certainly  they  were  not  coagulating  around 
her  in  a  mob,  and  by  the  time  she  had  attained  the 
qualified  haven  of  the  great  central  corridor  and 
dropped  down  limp  upon  one  of  its  benches  she  was 
sufficiently  in  possession  of  herself  once  more  to 
remember  Bill — Bill,  who  was  patiently  and  anx- 
iously awaiting  her  return  to  their  hiding-place  in 
the  shrubbery.  What  was  she  going  to  do  about 
him?  She  did  not  even  then  entertain  so  much  as 
a  momentary  idea  of  abandoning  him.  But  she  did 
realize  the  complete  impracticability  of  her  earlier 
program;  and  she  wanted,  intensely  and  poignantly 
she  wanted,  to  recover,  for  his  benefit  as  well  as 
for  her  own,  her  hedges,  her  pedestal,  her  place. 

A  battery  of  telephone  booths  across  the  corri- 
dor caught  her  eye.     That  was  the  thing  to  do,  of 


86  REAL  LIFE 

course :  call  up  the  hotel  and  have  them  send  down 
a  car  for  her  with  Miss  Smith  or  someone  in  it ;  pick 
up  the  boy;  take  him  back  to  the  hotel;  smuggle 
him  into  her  suite  somehow;  keep  him  out  of  sight 
more  or  less  and  take  him,  as  one  of  her  staff,  on 
the  limited  with  her  tomorrow  night.  Without 
bothering  to  work  out  the  details  any  farther  she 
briskly  crossed  the  corridor  and  entered  the  nearest 
booth. 

What  checked  her  was  the  sight  of  a  row  of  coin 
slots  across  the  top  of  the  instrument  and  the  reali- 
zation that  she  had  no  money  at  all,  not  even  the 
humble  nickel  that  it  required  to  attract  the  opera- 
or's  attention.  She  felt  herself  going  rather  limp 
again  and  leaned  back  against  the  partition  wall. 

And  then  a  voice  galvanized  her  into  instant 
alertness  once  more.  It  was  the  foreign-sounding 
voice  she  had  last  heard  expostulating  with  the 
chauffeur  of  the  brown  taxi;  the  wicked  uncle's 
voice,  beyond  the  slightest  possibility  of  doubt.  He 
was  talking  English  now,  laboriously  and  very  loud. 

"Yes.  I  am  in  a  place  call  Jackson  Park.  I  fol- 
low the  boy  here  where  he  run  away  with  a  girl  in 
a  taxi.    They  have  dismiss  the  taxi  here  at  the  park. 


TRAPPED  87 

so  I  have  hope  to  find  him.  But  if  he  have  no 
money  he  must  come  back  ....*' 

There  was  a  minute  of  silence  in  the  next  booth 
and  then  a  screech,  followed  by  a  torrent  of  bar- 
barous syllables  that  would  no  doubt  have  got  his 
connection  cut  off  in  any  country  where  they  were 
intelligible;  then  English  again  in  a  cold  agony  of 
earnestness. 

"Attend  now  you  and  perform  what  I  tell  you. 
This  is  not  for  the  police.  The  police  means  the 
newspapers,  and  it  must  not  be  known  that  he  have 
run  off.  Go  to  a  private  agency  and  pay  them  well. 
Have  them  watch  all  hotels  and  all  railway  stations. 
Three  thousand  dollars!  God  in  Heaven!  With 
that  he  can  go  halfway  round  the  world.  Under- 
stand now!  If  he  get  out  of  this  city  I  will  break 
you ....  Yah !  I  do  not  care  whose  fault  it  is.  And 
understand  this  also . " 

The  Princess  waited  to  hear  no  more.  With  a 
gasp,  she  burst  out  of  her  telephone  booth  and  sped 
down  the  corridor.  She  had  forgotten  her  panic, 
her  plans,  the  impulse  that  had  sent  her  into  that 
booth  to  summon  her  own  faithful  retainers  to  her 
side  again — forgotten  everything  but  the  need  of 
the  boy  who  was  waiting  (she  could  fairly  see  the 


88  REAL  LIFE 

look  in  his  face),  crouched  back  there  in  the  shrub- 
bery, for  her  return.  His  need  of  her  now,  what- 
ever it  had  been  before,  was  a  hundred-fold  greater, 
ringed  as  he  was,  by  his  uncle's  order,  by  spies.  She 
did  not  know  how  she  was  going  to  help  him. 
Somehow,  she  must ;  she  was  the  only  friend  he  had. 
At  the  head  of  the  great  stone  flight  of  steps 
she  paused,  just  momentarily.  The  broad  open 
space  which,  when  she  had  crossed  it  so  short  a 
time  ago,  had  seemed  literally  sprouting  with 
humanity,  looked  now,  to  her  startled  eye,  utterly 
empty  except  for  the  one  figure  at  gaze  in  the  mid- 
dle of  it. 

Bill,  of  course!  He  hadn't  been  able  to  wait 
any  longer  and  had  come  fairly  into  the  lion's  jaws 
to  find  her!  His  uncle,  when  he  had  finished  tele- 
phoning— any  instant  now — would  come  out  to  the 
head  of  that  same  flight  of  steps  and  look  around. 
And  recognize  his  prey?  Of  course;  he  couldn't 
help  doing  it!  There  was  no  one  in  an  expanse  of 
acres  whom  she  could  see  but  Bill. 

She  bounded  down  the  steps  and   fairly  flew 

toward  him.     She  had  never  run  so  fast  in  her  life. 

And  she  thought  as  fast  as  she  ran.     If  any  of 

the  bystanders  were  to  perceive  that  the  situation 


TRAPPED  89 

was  serious  they  would  try  to  take  a  hand  in  it,  and 
the  moment  it  would  need  for  explanations — even 
to  the  boy  himself — would  be  enough  to  serve  the 
uncle's  nefarious  purpose. 

The  need  for  acting  tuned  her  up.  She  ran  as 
if  it  were  all  a  lark,  like  a  child  let  out  of  school  for 
recess.  She  spared  breath  enough  for  a  laugh. 
When  Bill  saw  her  she  waved  him  a  challenge  to 
race  to  the  head  of  a  winding  path  that  led  through 
the  shrubbery. 

He  caught  the  main  idea,  all  right,  but  he  either 
misread  the  direction  she  indicated  or  thought  it 
didn't  matter,  for  he  started  running,  without  wait- 
ing for  her  to  come  up  with  him,  straight  down  the 
main  southbound  drive  that  leads  between  the  two 
basins  of  the  lagoon — in  full  view  from  the  pavilion 
steps,  that  meant,  for  another  hundred  yards  or  so. 

To  anyone  but  herself,  she  realized,  he  must 
look  perfectly  ridiculous,  the  way  he  ran,  and 
dressed  as  he  was,  and  for  a  moment  their  appall- 
ing resemblance  to  a  low  comedy  film  all  but  sapped 
her  courage.  But  she  went  desperately  on,  and,  as 
luckily  he  couldn't  run  very  fast,  she  presently  over- 
took him.  By  that  time,  though,  there  was  no  place 
to  hide  or  to  turn  off.    Their  road  went  straight  on 


90  REAL  LIFE 

over  another  bridge  and  curved  to  the  left.  Here 
they  paused  for  the  breath  they  both  needed.  Uncle 
v;^as  not,  at  all  events,  immediately  upon  their  heels. 

"He's  after  us/'  she  panted,  "so  we'll  have  to 
hide  again.  He  v^^as  in  there  telephoning  and  I 
heard  what  he  said.  That's  why  I  had  you  run. 
Come  on.    Have  you  got  your  breath  yet?" 

He  hadn't,  enough  even  to  answer  with. 
Princes,  she  supposed,  never  had  to  run  a  step  in 
their  lives.  She  took  him  firmly  by  the  arm  and 
went  on,  walking,  though,  as  fast  as  she  could  make 
him  go. 

There  was  a  fork  farther  along,  the  main  drive 
swinging  south  again  and  a  winding  and  apparently 
little-traveled  road  curving  north  to  the  left.  The 
Princess  was  no  topographer,  and  the  mistake  she 
made  was  natural  enough.  She  chose  the  left-hand 
road  and  thereby  went  in,  with  poor  confiding  Bill, 
through  the  neck  of  a  bottle.  They  were  on  a  nar- 
row peninsula  between  the  outer  basin  and  the  big 
lake,  A  relic  of  the  World's  Fair,  the  reproduction 
of  La  Rabida  Convent,  stands  at  the  end  of  it.  The 
caravels  used  to  be  moored  beside  it.  Between  it 
and  the  pavilion  is  the  unbridged  lagoon  outlet  into 


TRAPPED  91 

the  lake.  The  Princess  had  to  swallow  a  sob  as  she 
and  Bill  stood  looking  down  into  it. 

*T  don't  suppose  you  can  swim,"  she  forlornly 
said,  but  did  not  wait  for  his  inevitable  answer. 
"We've  got  to  try  to  get  back,  if  there's  time." 

But  through  an  opening  in  the  trees,  as  they 
retraced  their  steps,  they  caught  a  glimpse  of  Uncle, 
already  crossing  the  bridge.  They  were  trapped — 
"like  rats!"  the  Princess  reflected. 


CHAPTER  VI 


THE  YACHT 


BUT,  this,  you  know,  simply  wasn't  possible.  All 
her  experience  of  life  barred  it.  There  was  no 
such  thing  as  catching  a  hero  and  a  heroine — really 
catching  them  like  rats  in  a  trap;  parting  them  for- 
ever; putting  the  hero,  squirming,  back  upon  his 
throne  and  making  him  marry  a  homely  princess 
like  one  of  Cinderella's  sisters.  It  could  not  hap- 
pen. The  wicked  uncle  might  gloatingly  think  the 
trap  fairly  sprung  upon  his  victims,  but  there  always 
was  a  way  out.  One  of  the  pair,  the  hero  or  heroine 
as  it  happened,  simply  had  to  find  that  way.  Of 
course,  in  this  case  it  was  up  to  her;  a  failure  now 
would  cast  a  doubt  upon  the  very  integrity  of  her 
calling. 

Bill,  still  breathless  and  pretty  tired,  did  venture 
rather  forlornly  a  suggestion  that  they  revert  to 
their  status  as  babes  in  the  woods  behind  some  clump 
of  bushes  and  hope  that  Uncle  wouldn't  be  able  to 

92 


THE  YACHT  93 

find  them.  But  she,  standing  very  still,  with  eyes 
half  shut  and  a  knot  between  her  brows,  accorded 
this  plan  no  more  than  a  curt  shake  of  the  head  and 
a  relenting  pat  upon  his  shoulder.  But  she  went  on 
thinking  aloud. 

"He  knows  he's  got  us,  doesn't  he,  because  the 
only  way  out  is  along  that  Httle  road.  Well,  either 
he'll  search  this  place  inch  by  inch  or  else,  if  he 
isn't  in  too  much  of  a  hurry,  he'll  sit  down  himself 
behind  a  bush  back  there  in  the  narrowest  place  and 
wait.  He  doesn't  know  we've  seen  him  following 
us,  so  I  guess  that's  what  he'll  do — wait  a  while, 
anyway  until  somebody  comes  along  that  he  can  ask 
to  help  him  find  us.  What  we've  got  to  have  is  a 
place  to  hide  where  they  can't  find  us.  — H  you 
could  only  swim !"  she  added. 

The  thing  that  kept  plaguing  her  was  this  possi- 
bility of  an  escape  by  water.  Also,  she  was  pos- 
sessed by  the  conviction  that  the  next  three  or  four 
minutes  were  the  decisive  ones.  She  caught  Bill  by 
the  arm  and  led  him  down  the  heavily  wooded  bank 
on  the  lagoon  side. 

The  whole  surface  of  the  lagoon  was  dotted 
thickly  with  yachts ;  all  sorts  of  yachts,  big  and  little 
— sloops,  mackinaws,  yawls,  a  schooner  or  two,  doz- 


94  REAL  LIFE 

ens  of  little  snub-nosed  cats — all  lying  at  moorings 
with  neatly  furled  sails,  deserted.  There  was  not  a 
human  being  in  sight,  not  even  on  the  verandas  of 
the  houseboat  yacht  club,  well  out  from  land  at  the 
end  of  a  long  gangway.  There  were  a  score  or  more 
of  dinghies  all  made  fast  to  a  low  wharf  leading  out 
from  one  of  those  verandas ;  but  the  only  access  to 
them  was  by  the  gangway,  and  the  crossing  of  this 
gangway  involved  taking  a  longer  chance  than  any- 
thing but  desperation  would  have  driven  her  to. 

There  was,  though,  right  here  beneath  her  eye 
one  little  pot-bellied  boat  pulled  up  on  the  beach. 
There  wasn't  an  oar  or  a  paddle,  not  even  a  float- 
board,  in  it ;  but  even  so,  it  was  the  most  promising- 
looking  vehicle  of  escape  in  sight.  It  was  beached 
bows  on,  and  did  not  look  very  heavy. 

"Bill,"  she  said,  swiftly  and  tensely,  "we're 
going  to  get  into  that  little  boat.  I  think  we  can  get 
to  one  of  those  yachts  in  it.  Your  uncle  may  be 
where  he  can  see  us,  but  we've  got  to  take  a  chance 
on  that.  Only  we  mustn't  waste  a  second,  so  we 
must  know  exactly  what  we're  going  to  do.  We'll 
both  grab  hold  of  the  boat  and  push  it  out  into  the 
water  until  the  stern's  afloat.  Then  you  get  in  and 
sit  down  in  the  stern — that's  the  broad  end  of  it,  you 


THE  YACHT  95 

know.  I'll  push  off  the  rest  of  the  way  and  try  to 
get  it  going  fast  enough  so  that  it'll  drift  over  to  that 
big  sloop,  see,  that  has  'Sally'  painted  on  it.  That 
looks  big  enough  to  hide  in." 

She  had  been  occupied,  while  making  this  expla- 
nation, in  getting  rid  of  her  skirt  by  the  process  of 
tucking  the  hem  of  it,  by  handfuls,  into  her  girdle. 
She  meant  to  wade  out  as  far  as  she  could,  and  she 
never  could  make  a  clean  spring  over  the  bows — 
couldn't  get  over  at  all  without  checking  their  way 
altogether — with  a  great  wet  thing  like  that  drag- 
ging around  her  feet 

Looking  up  now  at  Bill  to  learn  whether  he  com- 
prehended the  plan,  she  saw  that  he  had  gone  white 
again,  staring  down  at  the  water  and  at  that  little 
boat  just  as  he  had  over  the  blood  upon  her  arm.  He 
probably  had  never  been  in  a  boat  in  his  life  except 
the  liner  that  had  brought  him  across  the  ocean. 

"I  will  do  it!"  he  said  between  his  teeth.  "I 
will  drown  rather  than  go  back  to  my  uncle!" 

"Oh,  don't  be  a  baby!"  she  cried  with  a  sudden 
spurt  of  temper.     "Nobody's  going  to  drown." 

Then  as  she  saw  the  tears  spring  into  his  eyes 
she  all  but  dissolved  again.  How  could  she  have 
been  so  cruel  to  him!     It  wasn't  his  fault,  was  it, 


96  REAL  LIFE 

that  princes  were  brought  up  in  cotton  wool  like 
that?  Nothing  but  the  implacable  necessity  for 
haste  would  have  prevented  her  from  catching  him 
in  her  arms  and  comforting  him,  telling  him  not  to 
mind  that  she  had  been  a  beast. 

All  she  had  time  for  was  the  briefest  "I  didn't 
mean  that.  Come  on  now — down  the  bank  in  one 
jump  and  grab  the  boat." 

She  was  so  much  quicker  than  he  and  it  was  so 
much  lighter  than  she  had  expected  that  she  had 
it  afloat  before  he  had  time  to  lay  his  hands  upon 
the  gunwale. 

"Jump  in !"  she  cried.  "Grab  hold  of  my  shoul- 
der.   I've  got  the  lx)at." 

For  there  had  been  a  second  when  the  act  of  step- 
ping ankle-deep  in  water  with  one  foot  and 
entrusting  the  other  to  the  insecurity  of  the  bow 
thwart  had  been  beyond  him  altogether.  But  he 
obeyed  her  with  a  scramble  and  a  flop,  barking  his 
shins,  she  feared,  on  the  midship  thwart  as  he  went 
aft,  and  tumbled  into  the  stern  sheets  in  a  heap. 
Once  he  was  down,  anyhow,  in  the  bottom  of  the 
boat  it  did  not  matter.  She  shoved  off  with  a  run, 
wading  until  she  was  knee-deep,  and  then  with  a 
good  clean  spring  came  aboard. 


THE  YACHT  97 

The  dinghy,  she  joyfully  perceived,  had  way 
enough  on  to  take  it  out  to  the  sloop.  The  direction 
of  her  push,  however,  had  not  been  perfectly  calcu- 
lated, and,  instead  of  sliding  along  under  thf^  stern 
as  she  had  hoped  to,  she  was  able  only  by  a  long 
reach  to  clutch  the  side  farther  forward  almost 
abreast  of  the  mast,  where  the  freeboard  was  much 
higher.  To  her  agility  this  meant  nothing;  painter 
in  hand  she  went  up  over  the  side  like  a  cat,  intent 
on  leading  the  dinghy  aft  to  where  poor  Bill  could 
step  aboard  more  comfortably. 

I  suppose  an  irresistible  panic  must  have  over- 
whelmed Bill  when  he  found  himself  alone  in  the 
boat.  The  end  of  the  painter  in  her  hand  meant 
nothing  to  him.  The  Princess  had  not  had  her  back 
to  him  more  than  three  seconds,  but  when  from  the 
sloop's  deck  she  turned  and  faced  him  once  more  she 
saw  him  frantically  trying  to  climb  up  on  the  near 
gunwale.  She  had  only  time  to  fling  herself  down 
on  her  stomach  and  clutch  one  of  his  hands  as  he, 
having  kicked  the  dinghy  out  from  under  him,  went 
into  the  water.  Even  in  that  extremity,  though,  he 
didn't  cry  out. 

Strong  as  she  was,  she  was  not  equal  to  the  dead 
weight  involved  in  getting  him  aboard  at  that  point, 


98  REAL  LIFE 

so  she  worked  her  way  aft  with  him,  dragging  him 
through  the  water,  of  course,  to  the  stem. 

Even  there  it  wasn't  easy.  However,  it  was,  af- 
ter a  struggle,  accompHshed  and  presently  he  lay, 
wan  and  wet,  shivering,  spent  (for  what  he  had 
faced,  you  see,  for  two  or  three  minutes  had  been 
the  apparent  certainty  of  a  horrible  death),  in  the 
bottom  of  the  cockpit. 

She  looked  around  for  the  dinghy,  which  his 
last  convulsive  kick  had  thrust  clear  of  the  sloop's 
side,  and  saw  that  the  breeze  was  carr}ang  it  back 
almost  to  the  point  where  it  had  been  beached.  That 
was  one  bit  of  good  luck,  anyway.  She  dropped 
down  in  the  cockpit  beside  the  boy,  glad  of  a  minute 
in  which  to  get  back  her  own  breath. 

Purely  strategic  considerations  would  have  de- 
cided her  against  trying  to  improve  their  situation 
just  now,  but  to  wait  for  dark — though  it  would  still 
be  a  good  while  coming — right  here  as  they  were. 
But  a  look  at  Bill  made  it  clear  that  this  wouldn't  do. 
He  was  in  a  state  approaching  collapse;  he  looked 
like  people  who  were  going  to  die — gray-faced,  blue- 
lipped.  The  indicated  treatment  according  to  mo- 
tion-picture therapeutics  would  have  been,  she  was 
aware,  to  cradle  his  head  in  her  lap  and  stroke  his 


THE  YACHT  99 

brow.  But  she  was  profoundly  skeptical  of  any 
benefits  resulting  from  it  in  this  case. 

Up  to  the  arm-pits  he  was  soaking  wet  with  the 
persistent  never-drying  wetness  that  results  from 
having  been  in  the  water  in  heavy  wool  clothes.  He 
must  get  out  of  those  clothes  somehow ;  he  must  be 
made  dry  and  warm.  Otherwise,  most  likely,  he 
would  take  pneumonia  and  die.  Even  returning 
him  to  his  uncle  would  be,  she  felt,  a  preferable  alter- 
native to  that.  But  she  was  not  ready  to  admit  that 
it  was  the  only  one.  The  sloop  was  a  cruiser ;  in  the 
forward  end  of  the  cockpit  was  a  transom  leading 
down,  she  felt  sure,  into  a  cabin  which  might  well 
enough  contain  all  sorts  of  helpful  possibilities. 
But  the  transom  was  secured  with  a  good  stout  hasp 
and  a  padlock. 

They  had  once  used  a  craft  like  this  in  a  picture, 
so  its  anatomy  was  not  altogether  unfamiliar  to  her. 
She  stuck  her  head  up  and  looked  forward  to  see  if 
there  weren't  another  hatch  somewhere.  There  was 
a  round  thing  eighteen  inches  in  diameter  or  so,  pro- 
jecting through  the  deck  like  the  cover  of  a  very  big 
baking-powder  tin,  which  might  be  what  she  wanted. 
It,  too,  was  probably  locked,  but  she  could  at  least  go 
and  see.    It  meant  taking  another  chance,  to  be  sure, 


lOO  REAL  LIFE 

of  attracting'  attention,  but  there  was  no  avoiding 
that  if  Bill  were  to  be  put  under  cover. 

She  fortified  her  resolution  with  a  last  look  at 
him,  told  him  with  a  leave-taking  caress  that  she'd 
be  back  in  a  minute  and  crept  forward  along  the 
offshore  side  of  the  boom  to  the  hatch  cover.  It 
seemed  perfectly  immovable  when  first  she  tugged  at 
it,  but  this  she  found  was  due  to  a  simple  bayonet 
catch  in  the  side,  so  she  rotated  it  a  degree  or  two, 
worried  it  off  and  swung  herself  down  into  the 
forehold. 

It  was  a  cavernous  place  containing  nothing  ap- 
parently but  rolled-up  or  folded  sails.  In  a  moment, 
however,  she  discovered  to  her  delight  that  the  green 
curtain  just  abaft  the  mast  was  all  that  separated 
this  compartment  from  the  cabin. 

And  here  indeed  was  treasure :  two  wide  bunks, 
one  of  them  with  a  stack  of  blankets  upon  it;  for- 
ward of  these,  starboard  and  port  respectively,  a 
toilet  and  a  galley,  the  latter  actually  containing  food 
— a  biscuit-tin,  some  cans  of  pork  and  beans.  She 
did  not  take  time  for  a  further  inventory.  Abaft  the 
bunks  were  two  clothes  lockers — unlocked,  thank 
goodness! — with    clothes    in    them — white    cotton 


THE  YACHT  loi 

trousers,  oilskins,  a  sweater  or  two-and^a  aiis'.:eife- 
neous  heap  of  canvas  sneakers. 

At  this  point  in  her  researches  she  heard  Bill  call- 
ing- in  a  scared  voice,  "Princess !" 

She  rushed  forward  and  saw  him  peering  tragic- 
ally down  the  hatch. 

"It's  all  right !"  she  called  to  him.  "It's  simply 
great!  Why,  we  can  live  here  as  long  as  we  hke! 
— Come  on  down!"  she  added,  perceiving  that 
though  he  wanted  to  obey  he  hadn't  the  slightest 
idea  how  to  set  about  doing  it.  "Oh,  just  stick  your 
feet  through  and  drop.    I'll  catch  you." 

And  this  she  did  pretty  successfully,  though  he 
came  down  upon  her  like  a  bag  of  cement,  and  half 
led,  half  dragged  him  into  the  cabin.  He  was  all  in 
and  no  mistake.  She  sat  him  down  on  one  of  the 
bunks,  got  him  out  of  his  coat  and  waistcoat,  undid 
his  cravat  and  collar  and  then  knelt  at  his  feet  and 
took  off  his  shoes. 

She  perfoi-med  all  of  these  services  quite  simply 
and  all  but  unconsciously.  Yet  there  came  to  her 
mind's  ear  as  she  wrestled  with  the  wet  leather  but- 
ton-holes, faintly  and  phonographically,  a  voice  that 
exclaimed  in  tones  of  horror,  "Leda  Swan,  what  are 


I02  REAL  LIFE 

xou  doing!"  The  only  effect  it  had  was  to  touch 
her  Hps  with  a  smile. 

Having  rummaged  a  long-sleeved  jersey,  a  pair 
of  white  cotton  trousers  and  some  thick  wool  socks 
out  of  the  locker,  she  told  him  firmly  to  take  off 
every  stitch  of  his  wet  clothes  and  put  on  these. 
"And  call  me  as  soon  as  you  finish,"  she  concluded. 

He  asked,  looking  desperate  again,  where  she 
was  going. 

"Just  around  behind  that  curtain,"  she  told  him. 
"Only  wait !    I  guess  I  might  as  well  get  dry  too." 

The  resources  of  the  locker  were  not  by  any 
means  exhausted,  but  when  it  came  to  trousers  she 
found  her  only  choice  was  between  a  small  pair  that 
might  not  be  such  a  bad  fit,  but  were  horribly  dirty, 
and  a  quite  presentably  clean  pair  which  were  in 
girth  enormously  too  big.  She  hesitated  an  instant, 
but  fastidiousness  conquered  vanity  and  she  chose 
the  latter.  She  took  a  blouse  and  the  smallest  pair 
of  sneakers  and  retired  with  them  to  the  forehold. 

She  had  completed  her  change  before  he  did.  It 
was  not  as  radical  as  his,  of  course ;  only  a  question 
of  getting  out  of  her  skirt,  coat  and  blouse  and  tak- 
ing off  her  wet  shoes  and  stockings.  The  waist- 
band of  the  trousers  was  almost  big  enough  to  wrap 


THE  YACHT  103 

around  her  twice,  so  she  was  able  to  fasten  it  with 
her  own  girdle.  She  rolled  back  the  wristbands  of 
the  middy  blouse  so  that  they  wouldn't  interfere 
with  her  hands  and  turned  the  trousers  legs  well 
above  her  ankles,  flexed  her  arms  luxuriously, 
stretched  her  bare  toes,  released  from  the  unpleas- 
ant confinement  of  wet  shoes  and  stockings,  and 
with  a  grimace  put  on  the  sneakers;  then  she  sat 
down  on  one  of  the  great  rolls  of  canvas  to  await 
the  boy's  call,  ready,  she  felt,  for  anything. 

Yet  she  was  not  ready  for  the  shock  that 
awaited  her  on  the  other  side  of  the  flimsy  green 
curtain  when  Bill  spoke,  in  a  perfectly  natural 
voice,  and  asked  her  to  come  in.  She  pulled  aside 
the  curtain,  uttered  a  faint  shriek  and  stood  staring, 
about  equally  horrified  and  incredulous,  at  the  fig- 
ure sitting  upon  the  bunk.  Because  it  was  not  Bill ; 
though  at  the  same  time,  and  even  more  horribly,  it 
was.  But  the  beautiful  image  of  romance  was  gone 
and  a  cruel,  staring  travesty  sat  in  its  place. 

You  may  as  well  be  told  the  truth  in  plain  words, 
I  suppose:  Bill  had  taken  off  his  hair.  It  lay  upon 
his  hat  on  the  bunk  beside  him.  The  only  covering 
now  upon  his  hard  round  head  was  a  stubble  per- 
haps three  weeks  old. 


104  REAL  LIFE 

He  had  started  at  her  outcry  and  glanced  about 
in  alarm  to  find  the  cause  of  it;  then  he  looked  up 
inquiringly  into  her  face. 

"It  was  nothing,"  she  said  in  a  half-suffocated 
voice.     "Only — only  you   look  so  different!" 

He  smiled.  "You  are  surprise  when  I  take  off 
my  wig.  You  did  not  know  it  was  a  wig,  maybe? 
They  make  it  very  carefully  so  that  no  one  shall 
know." 

He  took  it  up  and  regarded  it  with  a  quite  im- 
personal admiration,  then  tossed  it  aside  and  ran 
his  fingers  over  his  poor  bare  scalp.  It  was  the 
same  gesture  she  had  noted  in  the  taxicab,  but  so 
different  in  effect  that  she  almost  cried  out  again. 

She  was  aware,  though  she  desperately  kept  her 
eyes  away  from  his  face,  that  he  was  searching  hers 
with  a  newly  troubled  intensity. 

"You  do  not  like  me  without  my  hair?"  he 
asked. 

She  tried  to  laugh  it  off.  "I'll  get  used  to  it,  I 
giiess,"  she  told  him,  and  then  since  he  was  fairly 
shuddering  with  cold  she  resolutely  set  about  wrap- 
ping him  in  the  blankets,  shaking  them  out  one  at  a 
time  and  tucking  them  in  around  him  until  she  had 
made  a  mound  of  him.    But  she  felt  when  she  had 


TTTE  YACHT  105 

fiiiislK''!  ili.ii  '.lie  (MiiMii'i    iippMii  I hrit  wistful  gaze 

(if  III,  .iii\    l.irMi         I'cii    ,111  (     ,1  II  ,(■  \lic  ".il  liricil  11|)  :ill 

hi'.  (  lolhc  .. 

"I'll  fill-  iliciii  ill  Iicic  ;iii<l  spread  thcjii  uiit  to 
di-y,"    111-  ■  ii'l,  ni.MM'M-'l  .1  <.iiiicra  smile  for  him 

and    |h  >ll('(|    I  Iir<  III!'  h    I  Ik'   I  III  I  .Mil'.. 

I'll!    'lie    lliiii;;    llniii   (|m\\ii    in   unc    h^.i])  and    hciV 

self  in  aiioilicr  ii|ii.ii   iIm-  '..lil.,  .md,  so  far  as  it 

Conid  lie  dniic  iMiicIc  h,  lit  lie!  (Il  'Ml  Tl  \\:i.n'l 
fair!  Il  \'.i  ii'i  ciidiii  .il  lie !  Il  w.i.  a  IrirU  iiIImI\ 
<»nl  ra;M'<  HI',  ,11  h  I  di    |  in  .il  ilr  l  h.il   I'  .il(    ii'id  |)1a  vd  ii|  h  m 

licl'!        Il     w.r      .1     li(li.i\.d,     .1     l.iidi   ( |(  '.I  I  I  )\  III-     :.lhM|.,, 

she  doul)i.d  ii    lM'd.-\ci   I. ... ',(•!•  from. 

It  wasii'i.  iliMii..|i,  I'.iii  iii.ii  Im-  was  angry  with 
even  ill  tin's  iii.i  iiK.mcnt  of  tragic  disillusionment. 
Somehow  you  cmihhi't  l.c  angry  with  Bill.  Tt 
wasn't  his  fmdi,  li<-  ii||.  .  rd,  that  he  hadn't  anv 
hair.  Only  why  need  lie  li.iv<  unm  a  wig;  so  Im mii 
fill  ili.ii  she,  expert  as  s!i<-  w.r.  in  ilic  niysl<'ii("i  of 

in.il.ciip,  'Jm.iiM  Iiavc  fallfii  in  I.^m-  willi  il  ;'  W  li\'  .1 
v\  1;:  .ii  .ill,  for  lli.ii  iii.iiicr? 

SIh-  Ii.kI  I"  :m.|iiii  hlin  of  Calculation  so  far  as 
il'.  rile.  I  ii|,. .11  11.  I  V.A-.  (Mncrrncd.  He'd  taken  it 
(d'l  jM  I  a:-,  biu»pl>  aiiU  iiiim.ii  .  ioimly  as  he'd  taken 
oil    ill.   hat.     There  wa:.   :-'>nird.ing,   when   you 


io6  REAL  LIFE 

stopped  to  think — well — princely  about  a  simplicity 
like  that.  It  fitted  in  with  the  way  he  had  spoken 
of  beautiful  women  who  had  kissed  his  hands — 
though  he  did  not  like  it  and  wanted  them  kept 
away.  But  why  should  a  prince  great  enough  to 
be  as  indifferent  as  all  that,  wear  a  wig,  even  if  his 
own  hair  were  nothing  much  to  look  at? 

The  Princess  caught  her  breath  and  sat  up  and 
her  eyes  came  alight  again.  Romance,  though  it 
had  sustained  a  nasty  jolt,  showed  signs  of  recover- 
ing consciousness.  A  disguise! — so  that  he  could 
escape  his  kingdom  and  the  horrible  girl  they  wanted 
to  marry  him  to !  She  wondered  what  his  own  hair 
had  been  like. 

She  had  to  sustain  another  revulsion,  another 
quite  horrible  sinking  of  the  heart,  as  the  picture  of 
his  round  head  projecting  out  of  that  mound  of 
blankets  formed  itself  again  in  her  mind.  It  wasn't 
the  sort  of  a  trial  that  a  heroine's  constancy  could 
fairly  be  subjected  to.  It  was  cruel  and  unusual, 
a  flagrant  violation  of  the  constitutional  laws  of 
romance.  But  she  drew  a  long  breath  of  resolution 
and  promised  herself  to  be  game  through  every- 
thing. She'd  never  really  contemplated  anything 
else,  not  even  in  those  first  black  moments.     The 


THE  YACHT  107 

picture  of  herself  climbing  out  through  that  forward 
hatch,  swimming  ashore  and  leaving  him  to  fare  as 
best  he  could  had  never  been  anything  but  a  panicky 
flash  of  nightmare. 

She  got  up  briskly  and  went  to  work  wringing 
what  water  she  could  out  of  his  saturated  clothes 
and  spreading  them  out  to  dry  upon  the  sails.  The 
money  in  his  trousers  pockets  worried  her,  so  she 
took  it  out,  straightened  and  counted  it.  It  came 
to  exactly  two  thousand  nine  hundred  and  eighty 
dollars — the  three  thousand  dollars  his  uncle  had 
screamed  about  over  the  telephone,  minus  the 
twenty  they  had  given  the  taxi-driver.  Not  know- 
ing quite  what  to  do  with  it  she  tucked  it  into  the 
pocket  of  her  own  trousers. 

Then,  shutting  her  eyes  for  a  minute  and  stiff- 
ening her  face  for  the  sight  she  must  encounter,  she 
went  back  into  the  cabin  and  looked  at  Bill.  He 
was  asleep,  poor  dear,  and  wasn't  somehow,  like 
that,  a  revolting  object  at  all.  An  unexpected  wave 
of  tenderness  for  him  took  possession  of  her.  She 
might  have  been  a  mother  looking  down  at  her  first 
baby  in  its  crib.  They  haven't  any  hair  either  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  and  are  seldom  anything  wonderful 
for  a  critical  eye  to  look  at. 


io8  REAL  LIFE 

She  sat  down  very  carefully  on  the  edge  of  the 
bunk  beside  him.  He  looked  so  helpless,  so  com- 
pletely at  the  mercy  of  her  care !  She  wanted,  quite 
imperatively,  to  touch  his  face  with  her  fingers,  to 
stroke  his  forehead;  and  before  she  could  summon 
any  adequate  resistance  to  this  impulse  she  found 
herself  doing  it.  After  a  minute  his  eyes  came 
open  and  he  looked  up  at  her  with  a  childlike,  sleepy 
smile,  and  she  caught  her  breath  with  a  scared  lit- 
tle sob  as  she  realized  that  she  loved  this  cropped 
head  better,  more  poignantly,  than  the  lost  beauty 
of  those  romantic  tresses. 

"What's  your  real  hair  like,  Bill,  when  it  grows 
out?" 

"You  have  seen,"  he  said.  "That  is  my  real 
hair  in  the  wig.  When  they  shave  it  off  my  uncle 
he  save  it  very  carefully  and  have  it  made  just  like, 
so  that  no  one  shall  know.  And,"  he  added,  "no 
one  does  know  in  all  the  world  except  you  and 
Yakov."  . 

"Who,"  the  Princess  asked,  "is  Yakov?" 

"My  valet,"  he  told  her.  "He  is  take  care  of 
me  since  when  I  am,  oh,  just  a  little  boy.  As  soon 
as  I  can  remember." 

There  were  a  hundred  questions  she  wanted  to 


THE  YACHT  109 

ask.  Foremost  among  them,  why  they  had  shaved 
his  head;  and  if  his  uncle  knew  about  it  all  the 
while,  what  good ....  But  she  held  them  all  back 
staunchly.     She  wouldn't  pry! 

"If  you  like,"  he  said,  *T  will  keep  my  hair 
short  like  this.  I  have  more  comfort  so  and  more 
fun.    Will  you  permit  that  I  shall  do  that?" 

"Well,"  she  said  noncommittally,  "we'll  see.  It 
will  be  a  great  big  help,  though,  getting  you  away 
from  the  detectives.  I  am  sure  nobody  would  know 
you  like  this.  It's  the  most  wonderful  disguise  I 
ever  saw." 

Then  with  a  sudden  gleam  of  excitement — 
"Why,  it's  a  disguise  for  both  of  us!"  she  cried. 
"Wait." 

She  shook  down  her  own  hair,  folded  it  back 
over  the  top  of  her  head  and  put  on  the  wig.  A 
small  shaving-mirror  was  screwed  into  the  galley 
door,  and  with  the  aid  of  this  she  got  it  tolerably 
well  adjusted. 

"Look  at  me  now!"  she  cried  triumphantly. 
"Won't  I  pass  for  a  boy,  too  ?  That's  how  we'll  get 
away  together;  in  sailors'  clothes.  We'll  wait  here 
until  it's  dark  and  I'll  swim  ashore  for  a  boat — one 
of  those  boats  with  oars  in  it  that's  tied  to  the  wharf 


no  REAL  LIFE 

over  there.  I'll  come  back  in  it  for  you  and  row 
you  round  under  the  bridge  into  the  other  pond  so 
that  even  if  your  uncle  hasn't  got  tired  of  waiting 
we'll  get  away  from  him.  And  to-morrow  night 
we'll  take  the  train." 

It  was  a  plan,  she  realized,  that  still  wanted  a 
good  deal  of-  filling  in.  But  Bill  seemed  unaware  of 
any  fatal  gaps  in  it,  and  this  for  the  moment  was 
enough  for  her. 

"Are  you  hungry?"  she  asked.  "I  can  get  sup- 
per, you  know,  whenever  you  like.  It  must  be  six 
o'clock." 

"I  do  not  feel  hungry,"  he  told  her;  "only 
happy." 

She  wanted  to  kiss  him  for  that,  but  she 
forbore. 

"Happiness,"  she  remarked,  assuming  an  in- 
tensely practical  air,  "won't  take  the  place  of  food, 
not  with  the  sort  of  night  we've  got  ahead  of  us. 
So  I  guess  I'd  better  go  and  open  a  can  of  beans." 

But  she  put  off  doing  it.  There  really  wasn't 
any  hurry,  she  supposed.  He  had  extracted  one 
arm  from  the  blankets  and  had  slipped  his  hand  in 
between  her  two.  It  was  funny  how  limp  it  made 
her  all  over,  just  that  simple  passive  contact.     She 


THE  YACHT  iii 

felt  as  if  she  couldn't  get  up  if  she  tried.     Yet  she 
supposed  she  could. 

Three  or  four  minutes  later,  like  a  released 
spring,  she  did.  The  thing  that  brought  her  to  her 
feet,  keyed  once  more  to  the  highest  pitch  of  alert- 
ness, was  the  sound  of  oars  and  voices,  both  near  at 
hand  and  coming  nearer. 

Before  the  boy,  following  her  change  of  mood, 
could  get  out  of  his  blankets  and  upon  his  feet  they 
felt  the  bump  of  a  dinghy  against  the  sloop's  side 
and  realized  that  the  owners  of  the  voices  were  com- 
ing aboard. 

"Through  the  curtain,  quick!"  whispered  the 
Princess. 

She  started  him  off  in  that  direction  with  a  good 
vigorous  push  and  herself  set  about,  in  the  few  sec- 
onds she  had,  restoring  the  cabin  to  its  pristine 
appearance,  softly  shutting  the  locker  doors  and 
folding  the  blankets  together  anyhow.  She  heard 
a  key  grate  in  the  padlock,  sprang  through  the  cur- 
tains and  crouched  behind  the  sails  with  Bill. 

"We  cannot  get  out,  can  we,  through  that 
hole?"  he  whispered,  indicating  the  open  hatch. 

She  clutched  him  as  an  admonition  to  silence 
because  steps  overhead  were  audible  just  then  com- 


112  REAL  LIFE 

k 

ing  forward.  There  was  a  half-suppressed  exclama- 
tion of  dismay  and  in  a  moment,  with  a  swiftness 
and  an  absence  of  noise  which  made  the  action  seem 
almost  furtive,  the  hatch  cover  was  fitted  on  and 
twisted  fast.  No;  they  couldn't  get  out  through 
that  hole  now.  The  Princess  threw  an  arm  over 
Bill's  shoulder  and  put  her  lips  close  to  his  ear. 

"Lie  still,"  she  commanded,  "That's  the  very 
best  thing  that  could  possibly  happen.  They  aren't 
near  so  likely  to  find  us  in  the  dark." 

She  was  about  to  add  that  if  the  yachtsmen  who 
had  come  aboard  would  only  sail  away  with  them 
somewhere  the  problem  of  giving  Bill's  uncle  the 
slip  would  be  completely  and  satisfactorily  solved. 
But  she  checked  herself  with  a  resolution  to  let  Bill 
adjust  himself  to  one  idea  at  a  time. 

It  soon  became  evident  to  her  that  it  was  no 
mere  pleasure  sail  of  an  hour  or  two  for  which  the 
yachtsmen  had  come  aboard.  The  dinghy  within  the 
next  half-hour  made  a  number  of  trips  to  the  club- 
house and  back.  Supplies  were  got  aboard.  Three 
or  four  boxes  and  hampers  presumably  containing 
food  and  drink  were  stowed  away  in  the  forehold, 
but  without  leading  to  the  discovery  of  the  stow- 
aways.     There    was    a    succession   of    mysterious 


THE  YACHT  113 

sounds :  creaks,  rattles,  thumps ;  the  padding-  of  soft- 
shod  feet;  shaq)  commands  and  prompt  nautical 
replies.  There  were  only  three  people  in  the  party. 
Bill  and  the  Princess  thought.  It  was  easy  to  dis- 
tinguish the  voice  of  the  skipper  and  that  of  one 
of  the  crew,  the  youngest  probably  and  certainly 
the  most  humble;  they  thought  there  was  only  one 
voice  in  between. 

Activity  came  to  a  climax  presently  with  the 
order  "Cast  off!"  and  the  response  "All  clear!" 
Bill  clutched  convulsively  at  the  Princess  as  the 
yacht  heeled  and  they  heard,  magnified  by  the 
sounding-box  of  the  shell-like  hull,  the  silky  rustle 
of  the  water  and  the  slapping  of  little  waves. 

"We  move!"  he  cried;  and  it  was  horror,  not 
caution,  that  made  his  speech  voiceless.  "They  are 
sailing  away  with  us!" 

"Sure  they  are!"  said  the  Princess.  "That's 
what  I  call  luck!" 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  INQUISITORS 

IT  WAS  the  Princess's  second  foraging  expedition 
into  the  cabin  which  brought  about  the  discov- 
ery of  the  stowaways.  The  first  had  been  wholly 
altruistic  and  successful.  She  had  gone  to  get  a 
blanket  in  which  to  roll  Bill,  for  poor  Bill  had  taken 
another  shivering-fit  just  as  the  sloop  got  under 
way.  Her  second  foray  was  wholly  selfish,  and  the 
moral  order  of  the  universe  was  vindicated  by  her 
getting  caught. 

One  of  the  crew  had  gone  down  to  the  galley  to 
get  supper  as  soon  as  the  sloop  was  fairly  out  on 
the  big  lake  and  settled  on  a  course.  Quite  an 
elaborate  meal,  the  Princess  judged  it  to  be,  from 
the  time  he  spent  fussing  around  in  there  and  from 
his  replies  to  the  hungry  bowlings  of  the  rest  of  the 
crew  on  deck.  The  Princess  would  have  liked  to 
howl  herself,  for  it  was,  by  then,  well  after  seven 

114 


THE  INQUISITORS  115 

o'clock,  and  she  felt  as  if  she  hadn't  eaten  anything 
for  days  and  days.  That  rich  strong  smell  of  fry- 
ing bacon  literally  made  her  mouth  water. 

She  asked  Bill  if  it  wasn't  almost  more  than  he 
could  stand,  and  he  replied  that  it  was,  but  he  went 
on  to  make  it  clear  that  it  wasn't  hunger  that  was 
ailing  him.  It  was  even  easily  thinkable  that  he 
might  not  relish  watching  her  eat.  All  the  same, 
when  the  cook  had  gone  on  deck  with  his  grub  and 
convivial  sounds  made  it  clear  that  the  whole  crew 
was  occupied  with  it,  the  thought  that  something 
edible  might  be  found  in  the  galley  was  too  much 
for  the  Princess's  powers  of  resistance,  and  she  fell. 
She  stole  into  the  galley,  spooned  up  a  liberal  help- 
ing of  beans  into  a  tin  plate,  fished  two  or  three 
slices  of  very  unevenly  cooked  bacon  out  of  a  fry- 
ing-pan, seized  a  fork  and  a  chunk  of  bread  and 
backed  out  of  the  galley. 

It  was  the  little  shaving-mirror  screwed  in  the 
door  that  told  her  she  was  caught ;  in  it  she  saw  the 
man  at  the  tiller  staring  at  her.  Her  spring  through 
the  curtain  was  automatic,  but  she  didn't  drop  her 
tin  plate  nor  even  spill  any  of  its  contents.  She 
steadied  herself  against  the  mast  as  a  voice,   the 


Ii6  REAL  LIFE 

skipper's,  shouted,   "What  the  devil!"   and  spoke 
swiftly  to  Bill. 

"They've  spotted  us,  but  it's  all  right.  What- 
ever they  say  to  you,  don't  talk.  Let  me  talk  to 
them." 

Another  minute,  or  less,  and  with  the  guidance 
of  very  unceremonious  hands  they  found  them- 
selves blinking  against  the  level  rays  of  the  wester- 
ing sun  under  the  incredulous  stares  of  their  two 
captors  and  the  forensic  frown  of  the  man  at  the 
tiller.  The  Princess  gulped  and  allowed  to  go  un- 
answered the  question,  "What  the  devil  are  you 
doing  here?"  but  upon  its  repetition  in  a  slightly 
less  exclamatory  form  she  got  herself  together  and 
began  her  story.  She  was  not,  of  course,  totally 
unprovided  with  one.  In  the  intervals,  down  below, 
of  not  thinking  how  hungry  she  was  she  had  con- 
cocted a  (she  hoped)  passably  plausible  sequence  of 
events  the  last  of  which  had  been  the  admittedly 
unauthorized  but  innocently  intended  boarding  of 
the  Sally  by  the  two  fugitive  (yet  not  blameworthy) 
brothers  Bill  and — Patrick  Lawrence. 

From  the  moment  back  on  the  boulevard  when 
they   had   encountered   the   feline   stare   of   Bill's 


In  the  mirror  she  saw  the  man  at  the  tiller  looking  at  her 

See  page  us 


THE  INQUISITORS  117 

wicked  uncle,  through  the  window  of  the  brown 
taxicab,  the  Princess's  narrative  had  meticulously 
followed  the  facts,  and  she  drew  a  little  short- 
lived comfort  from  the  reflection  that  her  fictitious 
preliminaries  to  this  moment  sounded  by  compari- 
son tame  and  truthful.  But  a  gleam  she  saw 
brightening  in  her  inquisitor's  eye  roused  a  mis- 
giving that  it  was  the  solid  ice  of  cold  fact  that  was 
breaking  under  her,  rather  than  the  thinner  stuff 
of  romance  over  which  she  had  glided  so  lightly. 

"I  don't  care!"  she  cried  in  sudden  exaspera- 
tion when  he  grinned  irrepressibly  over  her  last  de- 
tails. "It  did  happen,  exactly  as  I've  been  telling 
you !  It  seemed  just  as  wild  to  us  as  it  does  to  you, 
but  we  couldn't  help  that,  could  we?" 

He  nodded  sympathetically.  *T  know,"  he  told 
her.  "I've  sometimes  felt  the  same  way  in  address- 
ing a  jury.  — I'm  a  lawyer,"  he  threw  in,  "except 
when  I'm  out  in  the  Sally,  so  you'll  forgive  me  if  I 
make  sure  I've  got  this  story  straight.  You've  run 
away  from  your  uncle,  you  say,  because  he  is  cruel 
to  you,  abuses  you  and  so  on  ?  You  suspect  him  of 
having  made  away  with  your  property.  He's  the 
trustee  I  assume,  and  you've  an  idea  that  he  meant 
to  make  away  with  you,  as  well,  by  way  of  avoiding 


ii8  REAL  LIFE 

being  called  to  account  for  the  other  crime.  How 
did  he  abuse  you?    Starve  you?    Beat  you?" 

The  Princess  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  pulled 
up  her  sleeve  and  displayed  her  wounded  arm.  A 
mistake,  as  she  realized  at  once;  it  wasn't  a  mascu- 
line-looking arm  at  all. 

"Good  Heavens !"  cried  the  skipper.  "What  did 
he  go  after  you  with — his  fingernails  ?" 

But  he  didn't  wait  for  a  reply.  He  turned 
crisply  upon  Bill. 

"What's  the  name  of  this  objectionable  old 
party  ?"  he  demanded. 

Bill  turned  an  appealing  look  upon  the  Princess, 
baffled  by  the  skipper's  sharp  "I'm  asking  you!" 
But  the  Sally  took  a  gentle  roll  just  then  (they  were 
running  free  before  a  very  light  wind,  not  more  than 
six  knots,  but  there  was  a  ground  swell  that  they 
were  more  or  less  in  the  trough  of,  and  Bill,  the  color 
of  pipe-clay,  sat  down  on  the  coaming  suddenly  and 
shut  his  eyes. 

The  Princess  sprang  to  his  side  and  flung  a  pro- 
tecting arm  across  his  shoulders.  "You  let  him 
alone !"  she  commanded  the  skipper.  "Can't  you  see 
he's  sick?"    Then   she   added  with   dignity,    "My 


THE  INQUISITORS  119 

uncle's  name  is  Patrick — Walter  Patrick.  I  was 
named  after  him." 

"That's  plausible,"  observed  the  skipper.  "But 
come  now,  what  were  you  named?  Patrick — or 
Patricia  ?" 

The  Princess,  cheeks  aflame,  looked  from  face 
to  face  in  the  ring.  The  men,  the  skipper  and  his 
friend,  were  grinning — hatefully,  she  thought;  but 
the  boy — he  looked  about  her  own  age,  and  she  had 
gathered  that  he  was  the  skipper's  younger  brother 
— exhibited  in  his  wide-eyed  gaze  a  startled  surmise. 
"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said  stiffly,  but 
it  was  no  good  of  course.  Her  inquisitor  didn't  even 
take  the  trouble  to  contradict  her.  Instead  he  turned 
once  more  upon  poor  Bill. 

"I  don't  wish  to  add  to  your  troubles,"  he  said, 
in  a  tone  of  not  unkindly  satire,  "but  I  would  like 
to  hear  you  speak  up  and  answer  one  question. 
Honestly,  now,  is  this  young  lady  your  sister?" 

"All  she  say  is  true,"  Bill  asseverated  staunchly. 
"She  tell  me  I  am  not  to  talk " 

They  interrupted  him  there  with  a  unanimous 
shout.  He  had,  of  course,  completely  spilled  the 
beans,  and  their  laughter  informed  him  of  it,  but  yet 
he  didn't  know  why.    He'd  been  too  sick  to  listen  to 


I20  REAL  LIFE 

the  Princess's  story,  but  he  turned  upon  her  now  a 
look  deprecator}'',  imploring,  and  it  was  this,  rather 
than  the  jeers  of  the  others,  that  demolished  her. 
Left  to  herself  she  could  have  snatched  off  her  wig, 
shaken  loose  her  own  hair  and  sailed  into  them; 
cowed,  perhaps,  even  the  skipper.  Instead  of 
that,  Bill  saw  her  struggle  ineffectually  against  a 
sob,  turn  away  from  that  pair  of  hostile  faces  and 
drop  down  forlornly  upon  the  transom.  She  took 
off  her  wig,  indeed,  but  with  no  gesture  at  all,  and 
the  next  instant,  with  another  sob,  she  had  buried 
her  face  in  it. 

For  one  moment  Bill's  sick,  wobbling  eyes  stead- 
ied and  flashed  fire.  Anger  burned  in  the  pit  of  his 
stomach  like  brandy,  and  he  rounded  upon  their  tor- 
mentors. "What  you  do?"  he  shouted.  "You  insult 
this  lady?  If  that  is  so  I  will  make  you  all  sorry." 
(He  repeated  this  threat,  with  precise  amplifications 
in  fizzing,  spitting  Russian.)  "She  is  good  to  me. 
She  help  me  run  off  from  my  enemy.  She  have 
save  my  life  this  very  day."  And  there  was  some 
more  Russian  after  that. 

But  the  skipper  shifted  the  helm  a  little,  mali- 
ciously or  not  I  am  not  sailor  enough  to  decide;  any- 
how, the  Sally  gave  just  then  a  much  bigger  roll 


THE  INQUISITORS  121! 

than  any  in  which  she  had  so  far  indulged,  and  Bill, 
going  blue-white  again,  stared  wildly  at  the  reeling 
horizon  and  then  turned  and  bolted  down  the  com- 
panionway  into  the  cabin.  The  Princess  followed 
him,  but  seeing  that  spiritual  consolation  was  npt 
called  for  she  contented  herself  with  covering  him 
up  once  more  with  blankets  and  then  returned  to  the 
deck  with  a  sense  of  somehow  keeping  the  wolves  at 
bay. 

But  the  man  at  the  tiller  was  distinctly  less  wolf- 
like. He  greeted  her  reappearance  with  a  smile  that 
had  no  derision  in  it  and  perhaps  a  touch  of  apology. 

"I'm  not  going  to  ask  you  any  more  questions," 
he  said.  "If  you  want  to  tell  me  the  true  story — the 
plain  story,  you  know,  with  no  motion-picture  em- 
bellishments— who  you  really  are  and  who  that 
cropped-headed  young  foreigner  is,  and  why  you're 
running  away  with  him — why — why,  I'll  do  any- 
thing I  reasonably  can  to  get  you  out  of  this  scrape. 
If  you  don't  want  to  do  that,  well,  of  course,  I'll  just 
have  to  act  according  to  my  best  judgment." 

The  Princess  considered  the  proposal  for  a  min- 
ute or  two  in  silence,  but  she  felt  the  hopelessness  of 
it  from  the  first.  It  was  precisely  the  true  parts  of 
her  story,  already  told,  that  he  most  decisively  dis- 


122  REAL  LIFE 

believed,  and  that  remark  of  his  about  motion-pic- 
ture embelHshments — she  didn't  know  just  what  he 
meant  by  it,  but  it  sounded  hatefully  skeptical. 

"Well,  there's  one  thing  you  can  be  sure  of," 
observed  the  guest,  a  dry,  brisk,  gray  young  man 
with  a  light  voice,  "and  that  is  that  she's  hungry. 
She  was  rifling  the  galley  when  we  caught  sight  of 
her."    Then  to  the  Princess,  "How  about  supper?" 

"I  was  hungry,"  she  admitted,  "a  few  minutes 
ago." 

"That's  a  good  idea,"  said  the  skipper.  "Joe," 
— this  to  his  younger  brother — "go  down  and  see 
what  you  can  find  for  Patricia  to  eat." 

But  the  young  man  who  had  made  the  proposal 
— it  was  he  who  had  cooked  supper  for  the  others — 
preferred  to  take  this  job  upon  himself,  and  went 
below. 

The  yacht  wanted  a  little  sailing  just  then.  The 
breeze  was  becoming  fitful.  It  had  backed  around  a 
point  or  two  and  the  skipper  decided  that  he  might 
want  to  gibe.  Whether  the  way  young  Joe  was 
gazing,  all  eyes,  at  the  Princess  had  anything  to  do 
with  this  decision — ^which  involved  sending  the  lad 
forward  to  tend  sheet  on  the  headsails — I  am  not, 
once  more,  sailor  enough  to  say. 


THE  INQUISITORS  123 

Anyhow,  the  Princess  was  allowed  to  eat  her 
supper  in  peace  amid  their  bustling  activities.    And 
during  this  period  of  shelter  she  managed  to  get  her 
mind  into  thinking  order  again.     They  weren't  vil- 
lains, this  yachting  party.     They  wouldn't  kidnap 
her  nor  hold  her  for  ransom.     They  wouldn't  do 
anything  horrid.     She  had  made,  she  felt,  a  whole- 
hearted ally  of  young  Joe.    He,  she  believed,  already 
had  recognized  her.     If  he  were  to  proclaim  her 
identity  to  the  others — well,  that  might  help  quite  a 
lot.     And  now  that  the  yacht  was  settled  in  her 
course  again  it  was  plain  she  was  not  being  taken 
back  to  Chicago.     The  sunset  sky  was  still  behind 
them. 

By  the  time  she  had  finished  her  supper, 
thanked,  very  prettily,  the  provider  of  it  and  turned 
an  embracing  deprecatory  smile  upon  the  others,  she 
felt  herself  surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  of  kindli- 
ness and  concern  which  encouraged  her  almost  to 
the  point  of  confiding  to  them  the  whole  adventure. 
The  skipper,  perceiving  this  intent,  tried  to  help  her 
along. 

"Feel  better?"  he  asked.  "Well,  then,  we're  not 
ogres,  you  know,  and  we  don't  any  of  us  think  a  bit 
the  worse  of  you  for  having  got  into  this  scrape. 


124  REAL  LIFE 

There  are  no  bones  broken  yet,  and  if  you'll  let  us 
help  you  by  being  really  frank  with  us  we  can  prob- 
ably manage  so  that  there  needn't  be.  We'll  con- 
trive to  get  you  home,  somehow,  so  that  nobody  need 
know  the  difference." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Princess  in  sudden  dismay,  "but 
how  about  Bill?" 

The  kindly  look  faded  from  the  skipper's  face. 
Yes,  of  course,  that  was  how  they  would  all  take  it. 
The  more  they  were  disposed  to  like  her  and  be  kind 
to  her  the  less  likely  they  would  be  to  consent  to 
take  Bill,  as  she  had  done,  on  trust. 

"I'm  afraid,"  the  skipper  said,  "that  you'll  have 
to  begin  by  admitting  that  Bill  was  a  mistake." 

"Well,  I  won't  I"  she  said  with  a  sudden  bright 
blush  of  resolution.  "He's  not  a  mistake.  He's  my 
friend  and  I'm  going  to  stand  by  him.  He's  the  one 
that  needs  help,  not  me.  I  promised  I'd  help  him 
and  I  will." 

"Just  who  is  he  ?"  the  skipper  asked  rather  dryly. 
"Are  you  quite  sure  you  know  yourself?  How  long 
have  you  known  him,  anyway  ?" 

"Oh,  there's  no  use  telling  you  anything  about 
him!"  she  cried,  trying  to  get  a  convincing  ring  of 
scorn  into  her  voice  to  cover  the  dismay  which  these 


THE  INQUISITORS  125 

questions  caused  her.  Of  course  she  didn't  know 
who  he  was,  and  her  acquaintance  with  him  was  no 
more  than  five  hours  old.  Well,  here  was  the  test 
whether  one  was  a  real  heroine  or  not.  It  was  in 
just  such  circumstances  as  these  that  weak-kneed 
pretenders  caved  in. 

"I  don't  doubt/'  the  skipper  said  patiently,  "that 
you  believe  whatever  story  he's  told  you ;  but  you  are 
probably  right  in  anticipating  that  I  would  not." 

His  kindness  was  the  thing  that  shook  her  forti- 
tude worst.  If  he'd  sneered  and  bullied  she'd  have 
found  it  easier  to  rise  to  the  situation.  She  tried 
herself  to  supply  this  lack. 

"It  doesn't  matter  one  snap,"  she  said,  and  she 
exhibited  the  snap  in  question,  "whether  you  believe 
either  of  us  or  not.  I'm  not  asking  you  to  help  us. 
I  don't  suppose  you'll  throw  us  overboard  or  even 
put  us  in  that  little  boat  and  leave  us  out  here  In  the 
middle  of  the  lake.  You've  got  to  put  us  ashore 
somewhere  and  we  don't  ask  anything  more  than 
that." 

The  scornful  attitude  she'd  managed  to  assume 
didn't  permit  her  to  question  him,  but  she'd  have 
liked  some  sort  of  comment  from  him  upon  this  de- 
claration; something  that  would  give  her  an  idea 


126  REAL  LIFE 

what  he  did  mean  to  do  with  them.  There  wasn't — 
was  there? — anything  to  be  apprehended  beyond  a 
coldly  unsympathetic  neutrahty? 

The  gray  young  man,  who  had  come  once  more 
on  deck,  now  took  a  hand.  It  was  the  skipper  he 
spoke  to  and  wanted  to  know  how  they  had  got  on 
(during  his  absence  from  the  scene. 

"Oh,  it's  a  deadlock,  I  guess,"  the  skipper  said. 
''Nothing  to  be  done  until  we  get  to  Michigan  City." 

"And  there,"  said  the  other,  "it  will  be  a  case  of 
turning  them  over  to  the  authorities,  I  suppose.  The 
chief  of  police,  probation  officer,  detention  home — 
that  sort  of  thing ;  to  be  held  until  called  for.  That 
seems  rather  a  pity,  doesn't  it  ?" 

The  Princess  turned  her  face  away  and  clenched 
her  hands.  They  couldn't  do  that !  They  wouldn't 
dare  do  that !  Not  if  she  told  them  who  she  was,  at 
least!  Probably  they  were  only  trying  to  frighten 
her  anyhow. 

"Do  you  know,  Cap,"  the  gray  young  man  went 
on,  "I  believe  I  could  tell  you  Patricia's  story  as  well 
as  she  could.  I'd  bet  ten  dollars  anyhow  that  I  know 
what  she's  running  away  for.  She's  running  away 
to  go  into  the  movies.  They  have  been  telling  her 
for  the  last  five  or  six  years — everybody  who  knows 


THE  INQUISITORS  127 

her — that  she  looks  like  Leda  Swan ;  of  course  they 
have.  And  there  really  is  a  striking  resemblance, 
allowing  for  the  difference  there  must  be  in  their 
ages.  I  suppose  the  beautiful  Leda  must  really  be 
getting  on  into  the  thirties.  But  this  kid — well,  you 
can  see  she's  thought  about  it  because  she's  got  her 
hair  curled  the  same  way  that  Leda  Swan  always 
wears  it  when  she's  playing  these  mountain  chee-ild 
parts.  She  has  been  pretty  well  looked  after,  I'd  say. 
Certainly  she  had  nice  clothes  on  when  she  came 
aboard  the  Sally." 

Here  he  turned  to  the  Princess  and  spoke  to  her, 
though  she  wouldn't  answer  his  look.  "I  hope  you'll 
forgive  me  for  looking  'em  over,  yours  and  Bill's, 
there  in  the  forehold — Patricia. 

"But  the  romance  of  this  movie  game" — he  gave 
up  trying  to  meet  her  eye  and  turned  back  to  the 
skipper — "must  have  got  her  just  the  same.  And 
then  this  wop  turned  up  from  somewhere  and  got 
her  to  run  off  with  him.  I  suppose  he  must  have 
had  a  head  of  hair  the  first  time  she  saw  him.  It 
might  be  interesting  to  find  out  why  he  shaved  it 
off.  Anyhow,  he  told  her  the  usual  cock-and-bull 
story  and  she  believed  it,  poor  child.  He  may  have 
been  anything — fiddler  in  some  restaurant  orches- 


128  REAL  LIFE 

tra,  haberdasher's  clerk,  bell-hop.  Not  that  it  mat- 
ters much." 

He  turned  once  more  to  the  Princess.  "Isn't 
that  about  the  size  of  it  ?"  he  asked.  "And  can't  you 
see  that  the  only  thing  to  do  is  to  let  one  of  us  take 
you  home — we'd  frame  up  some  excuse  or  other  to 
cover  the  ground — and  forget  all  about  him?" 

The  Princess  didn't  answer.  All  that  was  in  her 
mind  now  was  the  realization  that  the  alternative  of 
telling  who  she  was  was  no  longer  open  to  her. 
J^dsL  Swan  was  getting  into  her  thirties,  was  she! 
according  to  this  wise  young  man.  People  might  or 
might  not  believe  lies,  but  the  truth  was  something 
that  there  was  no  use  trying  to  tell. 

"Well,  there  you  are,"  said  the  skipper.  "If 
you'll  cut  loose  from  Bill,  whoever  he  is,  and  tell  us 
who  you  really  are  we'll  take  you  home.  If  you 
won't,  we'll  have  to  turn  you  over  to  the  chief  of 
police  at  Michigan  City  to  be  held  until  called  for. 
You  can  have  till  we  get  there  to  think  it  over." 

"How  long  will  it  be,"  the  Princess  asked,  "be- 
fore we  get  to  Michigan  City  ?" 

"That's  hard  to  say,"  he  told  her,  "with  the 
breeze  as  fluky  as  it  is  now.  Sometime  within  a 
couple  of  hours,  I  should  think." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  PEBBLE  THAT  STARTED  THE  AVALANCHE 

IT  WAS,  by  my  reckoning,  just  about  then  that 
T.  J.  Carstairs,  a  wholesale  drug  salesman  from 
Detroit,  stepped  out  of  an  elevator  upon  the  third 
floor  of  the  Tribune  Building  in  Chicago,  glanced 
about  the  lobby  with  the  air  of  a  stranger  and  then 
somewhat  dubiously  approached  the  very  dignified 
elderly  gentleman  who  sat  at  the  desk  in  the  middle 
of  it.  He  didn't  quite  think  that  this  was  the  editor 
of  the  paper,  yet  he  couldn't  be  sure.  Also  his  atten- 
tion was  a  little  distracted  by  the  appearance  of  a 
very  good-looking,  tall,  smartly  clad  girl  who,  with 
a  look  of  one  altogether  at  home  in  her  surround- 
ings, seemed  to  be  waiting  for  a  down  car. 

In  her  presence  he  didn't  want  to  say  anything, 
even  ask  a  question,  that  would  make  him  look  like 
a  hick.     Having  huskily  mumbled  something  first 

129 


I30  REAL  LIFE 

which  the  man  at  the  desk  found  inaudible,  he  shout- 
ed, rather  by  way  of  compensation  : 

"I  want  to  see  somebody  about  a  watch  that  I 
found." 

"The  ground  floor  to  the  right  is  the  classified 
ads." 

"I  haven't  thought  of  advertising  it,"  Carstairs 
said,  "though  perhaps  that  is  the  thing  to  do.  It's 
a  very  valuable  watch  and  pretty  badly  smashed. 
You  see,  I  found  it  on  the  seat  of  a  taxicab." 

A  down  car  stopped  just  then,  but  the  girl  shook 
her  head  at  the  elevator  boy  and  came  up  a  little 
irresolutely  to  the  desk. 

"Let's  see  the  watch,"  she  said. 

As  he  dug  in  his  pocket  for  it  she  led  the  way  to 
a  bench  at  the  back  of  the  lobby  and  added,  "Come 
over  here  and  sit  down." 

He  put  the  watch  into  her  hand  as  he  seated  him- 
self beside  her. 

"It's  platinum,  you  see,"  he  said,  "and  those  are 
diamonds  set  in  the  ring  around  it,  so  it  must  be 
worth  a  horrible  lot  of  money.  And  that  silver  rib- 
bon— it's  torn  and  dirty — but  doesn't  it  strike  you 
that  that  red  stain  on  it  might  be  blood  ?  That  was 
what  made  me  think  that  perhaps  I  had  better  bring 


THE  PEBBLE  AND  THE  AVALANCHE      131 

it  around  and  show  it  to  somebody  connected  with 
the  paper." 

"Yes ;  it  might  be  blood,"  she  said  in  a  hard  tight 
voice.  But  what  she  was  staring  at  was  the  mono- 
gram on  the  back  of  the  case. 

"They're  kind  of  funny-looking  initials,"  he  ob- 
served, "but  I  make  'em  out  'L.  S.'  " 

"Yes;  I  guess  so,"  she  answered,  but  once  more 
as  though  her  attention  had  bounded  forward  to 
something  else.  "Have  you  a  knife?"  she  asked, 
and  on  his  producing  it  she  swiftly  pried  open  the 
back  cover.  She  held  it,  to  catch  the  light,  a  little 
away  from  him  and  snapped  the  lid  down  again 
without  saying  whether  anything  more  informative 
had  been  found  inside. 

"You  say  you  found  it  in  a  taxicab?  Did  you 
get  the  number?    What  sort  of  a  taxi  was  it?" 

"It  was  a  yellow,"  he  told  her,  "and  I've  got  the 
number  written  down  somewhere." 

While  he  was  finding  the  bit  of  paper  in  one  of 
his  waistcoat  pockets  she  asked  him  where  and  at 
what  hour  he  had  hailed  the  taxi.  He  read  the  num- 
ber out  to  her  before  he  answered  either  of  these 
questions  and  noted  that  she  did  not  write  it  down, 
a  point  which  strengthened  his  impression  that  her 


132  REAL  LIFE 

questions  were  what  he  would  have  called  a  camou- 
flage for  something  ulterior  to  them.  He  did  not 
fairly  get  her  attention  until  he  told  her  that  he  had 
taken  the  taxi  at  the  corner  of  Sixty-third  Street 
and  Stoney  Island  Avenue  at  just  about  six  o'clock. 
At  that  she  stared  at  him. 

"It's  a  quarter  to  eight  now.  What  have  you 
been  doing  all  the  time  since?"  she  demanded. 

The  sharpness  of  the  question  took  him  aback, 
but  he  told  her  that  he'd  had  dinner  at  his  hotel  after 
coming  downtown,  and  had  then  gone  to  his  room 
for  another  look  at  the  watch  and  to  make  up  his 
mind  what  he'd  better  do  about  it.  "It  wasn't  until 
then  that  I  saw  what  I  thought  might  be  blood  on 
the  ribbon.  When  I  saw  that  I  thought  I'd  better 
go  to  somebody  about  it — either  the  police  or  a  news- 
paper.   I  finally  decided  to  come  here." 

She  asked  him  crisply  for  his  name  and  that  of 
his  hotel,  and  then  she  rose  with  a  swift  spring  which 
somehow  suggested  to  him  a  sword  coming  out  of 
its  sheath,  and  spoke  first  to  the  man  at  the  desk. 

"Tell  Fred,  if  he  comes  up,  to  come  into  the  local 
room,"  she  said.  Then  to  Carstairs :  "Excuse  me. 
I'll  be  back  in  a  few  minutes." 

She  disappeared  at  that  tlirough  one  of  the  half- 


THE  PEBBLE  AND  THE  AVALANCHE      133 

glazed  doors,  taking  the  watch  with  her.  Carstairs 
waited  a  long  five  minutes,  then,  again  rather  ill  at 
ease,  asked  the  man  at  the  desk  if  he  knew  who  that 
young  lady  was  who  had  been  talking  to  him, 

"Of  course  I  know  her,"  the  answer  was. 
"Why?" 

"Well,  it's  all  right  then,  I  suppose,"  Carstairs 
allowed.  "She  said  she  was  coming  right  back,  and 
that  watch  she  went  off  with  was  worth  two  thou- 
sand dollars  easy." 

The  man  at  the  desk  laughed. 

"You  should  worry,"  he  said,  "if  they  were  the 
crown  jewels  of  the  king  of  England.  That  young 
lady  is  Miss  Priscilla  Alden  and  she  is,  right  now, 
the  smartest  reporter  working  on  this  newspaper." 

In  this  opinion  of  Miss  Alden's  ability  the  city 
editor  at  that  moment  fully  concurred.  She'd  come 
up  to  his  desk,  put  the  watch  into  his  hands  and 
asked  him  if  he  "got"  the  monogram  on  the  back  of 
it.  He  made  it  out  "L.  S."  just  as  Carstairs  had,  but 
was  instantly  aware  from  her  manner  that  he'd 
missed  something.  He  pulled  down  his  desk  lamp  a 
little  lower,  looked  again  and  swore  appreciatively. 

"A    rebus   as   well    as    a   monogram — that    'S' 


134  REAL  LIFE 

worked  into  a  swan !  That's  ingenious,  isn't  it  ?  It 
leaves  no  doubt  as  to  whose  it  is." 

"There's  an  inscription  inside,"  Miss  Alden  told 
him.  "  'To  the  Princess  from  Her  Adoring 
Mamma,  Christmas,  1918.'  That's  what  they  call 
her,  isn't  it — 'Princess'  ?" 

"I  believe  so,"  he  said. 

"The  crystal  is  smashed,  you  see,"  she  went  on, 
"and  one  of  the  loops  that  hold  the  ribbon  is  broken 
off.  That's  blood  on  the  ribbon,  I  guess.  Well,  it 
was  found  on  the  seat  of  a  yellow  taxicab  at  Sixty- 
third  and  Stoney  Island  two  hours  ago.  That  looks 
like  a  story,  don't  you  think  ?" 

"Do  you  know  about  the  other  one?"  he  asked 
her.  "The  tip  was  telephoned  in  from  her  hotel  at 
five  o'clock  and  young  Jordan  was  sent  to  cover  it. 
A  man  brought  in  a  gold  mesh  bag — Miss  Swan's ; 
said  he  found  it  in  the  alley  back  of  the  Pullman 
Building.  Wanted  to  see  Leda  herself.  They  sent 
down  word  that  she  was  lying  down  and  hadn't  been 
out  of  the  hotel  since  two  o'clock.  He  said  he'd  seen 
her  lose  the  bag  and  talked  as  if  he  had  more  of  a 
story  than  he  told.  But  Jordan  didn't  get  anything 
on  it  and  I  killed  the  story." 

"Her  mesh  bag  in  the  alley  at  Adams  Street  at 


THE  PEBBLE  AND  THE  AVALANCHE      135 

five  o'clock  and  her  wrist  watch  in  a  taxi  at  Stoney 
Island  and  Sixty-third  at  six!  This  looks  as  if  it 
was  going  to  be  good !" 

She  turned  and  looked  about  the  local  room, 
nodding  to  a  good-looking  young  man,  whom  she 
had  attached  a  month  or  so  ago  in  the  capacity  of 
husband,  a  command  to  come  over  and  join  her  at 
the  city  editor's  desk.  While  he  was  crossing  the 
room  she  turned  back  to  the  boss. 

"The  man  who  brought  in  the  watch,"  she  said, 
"is  T.  J.  Carstairs,  Atlantic  Hotel.  I'm  pretty  sure 
he  didn't  get  on  to  that  monogram ;  but  I  don't  want 
to  take  any  chances.  I'll  have  Fred  here  look  after 
him  till  we  go  to  press,  take  him  to  a  show,  keep  him 
busy  somehow  so  he  won't  talk  to  anyone  else.  I 
wish  you'd  have  Bertie  or  George  Wynn  trace  the 
taxi  and  bring  in  the  chauffeur.  I'm  going  to  begin 
at  the  hotel ;  give  'em  a  chance  to  show  me  Leda 
Swan  and  give  me  an  interview  with  her.  If  they 
can't  do  that  then  the  fun  will  really  begin.  But  for 
the  love  of  heaven  get  that  chauffeur  quick  and  keep 
him!" 

He  might  well  enough  have  asked  whether  she 
was  under  the  illusion  that  she  was  the  city  editor,  or 
perhaps  the  managing  editor  and  proprietor,  of  this 


136  REAL  LIFE 

newspaper.  But  he  was  not  a  man  who  had  to  worry 
about  his  dignity.  He  did  delay  the  game  to  ask  her 
one  question. 

"How  did  you  get  on  to  this  story?  Carstairs 
come  to  you?" 

"Oh,  I  heard  him  telling  Mr.  Dohrmann  that  he 
had  found  a  smashed  platinum  wrist  watch  on  the 
seat  of  a  taxicab.  That  sounded  good  enough  for 
me,  so  I  butted  in." 

Well,  there  you  were!  She  had  just  turned  in  a 
cracking  good  story  that  meant  several  hours  hard 
work  and,  released  for  the  day,  had  been  upon  the 
point  of  starting  off  with  her  nice  young  husband 
for  a  pleasant  evening  of  some  sort;  but  a  valuable 
smashed  wrist  watch,  abandoned,  forgotten  on  the 
seat  of  a  taxicab,  had  looked  good  to  her!  Report- 
ers with  as  sensitive  a  flair  as  that  and  as  irrepres- 
sible a  passion  for  the  chase  as  that  did  not  grow  on 
every  bush.  She  was  giving  precise  instructions  to 
an  ineffectually  recalcitrant  husband  as  she  walked 
away. 

The  city  editor's  desk  'phone  rang  as  the  local- 
room  door  closed  behind  them.  He  reached  auto- 
matically for  a  pad  and  pencil  as  he  picked  up  the 
receiver.     But    after    listening    for    a    moment   he 


THE  PEBBLE  AND  THE  AVALANCHE      137 

snatched  the  latter  instrument  away  from  his  ear  as 
if  it  burnt. 

''What !"  he  said.  "Oh,  that's  nonsense !  Why, 
he  gave  a  concert,  didn't  he,  just  this  afternoon?" 
And  it  was  in  a  manner  sHghtly  dazed  that  he  went 
on  noting  down  details  and  putting  in  motion  the 
machinery  for  investigating  this  second  story  that 
had  just  been  tipped  off. 

That  Leda  Swan  should  be  abducted  and  robbed 
in  a  taxicab  and  that  Boris  Lazaref,  the  world's 
greatest  violinist,  should  disappear,  both  in  broad 
daylight  upon  the  same  afternoon,  was  too  stagger- 
ing a  coincidence  not  to  suggest  a  misgiving  that  he 
and  his  newspaper  were  the  victims  of  some  vast 
conspiratorial  hoax. 

Good  Lord !    What  a  night  it  was  going  to  be ! 


CHAPTER  IX 


THE   FOG-BELL 


INTO  the  fatigue-drenched  sleep  of  the  Princess 
the  clang  of  a  bell — a  locomotive  bell,  it  sounded 
like — pried  and  forced  its  way.  She  turned,  she 
twisted,  she  felt  for  a  pillow  to  bury  her  head  in  to 
shut  out  the  sound;  and  then  all  at  once  she  came 
broad  awake  in  a  dungeon  with  a  round  hole  at  the 
top  through  which  struggled  a  misty  beam  of  lantern 
light. 

There  went  the  bell  again  right  overhead.  That 
hadn't  been  a  dream  then,  unless  this  was.  Her  bed 
wasn't  a  bed — just  a  heap  of  something.  And  this 
great  mound  that  scraped  her  arm  was  the  rolled-up 
canvas  of  a  sail.  She  knew  where  she  was  now :  she 
was  in  the  forehold  of  the  Sally. 

She  wondered  how  long  she  had  slept,  how  it 
had  been  possible  for  her  to  sleep  at  all.  She  hadn't 
meant  to  sleep ;  that  had  been  a  contributory  reason 

138 


THE  FOG-BELL  139 

to  her  cold  refusal  of  the  cabin  which  they  had  of- 
fered to  let  her  have  all  to  herself.  She  had  pre- 
ferred voluntary  incarceration  in  the  forehold  with  a 
pair  of  duffle-bags  and  a  blanket  to  lie  upon.  She 
had  told  them,  with  a  fine  cold  flame  of  passion, 
that  since  they  meant  to  make  a  prisoner  of  her  when 
they  arrived  at  Michigan  City  they  might  as  well 
begin  now. 

It  had  been  Bill's  idea,  as  well  as  her  own,  that 
he  would  share  her  fate  and  the  forehold  with  her, 
but  this  decisively  had  not  been  the  arrangement 
The  skipper,  out  of  pure  malice,  she  felt,  had  decreed 
their  separation.  She  didn't  know  where  Bill  was 
now ;  probably  in  the  cabin. 

She  noted  suddenly  that  the  Sally  was  not  mov- 
ing. That  pleasant  silky  rustle  of  the  water  against 
her  sleek  sides  had  stopped.  Presently  the  Princess 
felt  the  unmistakable  tug  of  a  taut  hawser.  The 
Sally  was  tied  up  somewhere.  She  must  have 
reached  Michigan  City.  The  only  thing  the  execu- 
tion of  the  skipper's  sentence  awaited  now  was  sun- 
rise. Shot  at  sunrise!  No;  not  that,  of  course,  but 
something  almost  as  unbelievably  horrible.  Taken 
through  the  streets,  in  handcuffs,  perhaps ;  locked  in 
a  jail,  she  and  Bill  in  different  cells ! 


I40  REAL  LIFE 

Was  there  a  chance,  she  wondered,  that  some 
friendly  eye  falling  upon  her  as  she  was  led  off  to 
prison  would  recognize  her  and  come  to  her  aid  with 
a  file  in  a  loaf  of  bread,  or  a  few  drops  of  some  irre- 
sistible soporific  for  the  warden?  Or  would  all 
these  beholders  fall  into  the  same  infuriating  error 
as  that  of  the  chauffeur  and  the  much-too-wise 
young  man  on  the  Sally,  and  say,  "There  goes  some- 
body who's  been  told  she  looks  like  Leda  Swan"  ? 

Joe,  the  skipper's  younger  brother,  hadn't,  she 
felt,  fallen  into  that  error.  Joe,  from  his  looks, 
really  knew  who  she  was.  Could  Joe  be  begged  or 
bribed  into  helping  her  and  Bill  to  escape  ? 

Abruptly,  at  that  idea,  she  sat  erect  and  rubbed 
the  last  grains  of  sleep  out  of  her  eyes.  Now,  in  the 
last  dead  hours  of  the  night,  while  all  was  still 
aboard  the  Sally — still  in  the  inten^als  of  that  bell's 
nerve-destroying  clangor — now  was  the  time  to  find 
Joe! 

She  felt  her  way  softly  to  the  mast  and  thence  to 
the  green  curtains,  which  with  caution  she  drew  a 
little  aside.  There  was  nothing  to  be  got  in  there, 
however.  It  was  almost  pitch  dark.  By  straining 
her  eyes  she  could  make  out  the  position  of  the  com- 
panionway;  but  apart  from  that  there  was  no  light 


THE  FOG-BELL  141 

at  all.  She  could  hear  three  persons  breathing,  all 
unmistakably  asleep. 

She  dropped  the  curtain  and  crept  to  a  position 
directly  beneath  the  open  hatch.  A  lantern  at  the 
mast-head  revealed  the  fact  that  the  sails  were  down 
and  furled,  but  nothing  much  else.  What  she  want- 
ed most  to  know — namely,  who  or  what  was  ringing 
that  horrible  bell — was  concealed  from  her. 

If  the  agency  was  mechanical  she'd  take  a  chance 
on  writhing  up  through  the  hatch  and  prospecting 
about  for  Joe.  If  it  was  human  (And,  of  course,  if 
it  was  human  it  was  hostile.  What  motive  but  mal- 
ice could  there  be  for  keeping  up  a  hideous  din  like 
that?)  she  could  hardly  hope  to  get  out  unobserved. 
She  made  a  spring  for  the  hatch  coaming  and  pulled 
herself  up  part  way,  but  found  she  hadn't  elbow- 
room  enough  to  get  through;  so  she  dropped  back, 
waited  an  instant  to  discover  whether  the  thump 
she  had  alighted  with  had  roused  anyone,  and  then 
hauled  a  duffle-bag  directly  beneath  the  hatch  for 
another  attempt.  She  was  in  the  act  of  completing 
these  preparations  when  the  light  from  the  mast- 
head lantern  was  cut  off  by  the  protrusion  of  a  head 
and  shoulders  over  the  hatch. 

Caught!    she   reflected   bitterly.      They   would 


«42  REAL  LIFE 

probably  put  her  in  irons  now.  Then  she  was  elec- 
trified by  a  friendly  whisper. 

"Do  you  want  to  come  up  on  deck  ?  Wait  until 
I  ring  the  bell  some  more  and  I'll  help  you  through 
the  hatch." 

The  bell-ringer  was  Joe  himself !  In  the  instant 
of  that  realization  hope  came  flooding  back  into  the 
breast  of  the  Princess.  She  and  Bill  might  not  be 
at  the  end  of  their  perilous  adventures;  this  might 
not  be  the  fifth  reel  of  their  story — the  happy  end- 
ing never  came  until  then — but  at  all  events  she  was 
going  to  escape  from  the  sloop. 

She  was  already  halfway  through  the  hatch 
when  Joe,  having  finished  his  violent  bell-ringing, 
was  ready  to  help  her. 

"You  must  be  awfully  strong!"  he  said  in  an 
awed  whisper,  commenting  upon  this  feat. 

"I'd  not  be  much  good  if  I  couldn't  do  a  thing 
like  that,"  she  answered,  "in  my  business."  Then 
she  asked,  "Why  do  you  keep  ringing  that  horrible 
bell?" 

"On  account  of  the  fog,"  he  told  her,  "so  that 
some  other  boat  won't  come  ramming  into  us.  That 
lantern  up  there  wouldn't  show  a*"  all  a  hundred 
yards  away  " 


THE  FOG-BELL  143 

The  Princess  looked  around.  There  was  no  land 
in  sight  anywhere;  nothing  to  be  seen  but  a  gray 
impenetrable  blanket  of  mist.  Even  the  after  part 
of  the  Sally  was  veiled  and  only  faintly  visible. 

"Where  are  we  ?"  she  asked. 

Joe  told  her  he  didn't  know.  He  reached  back 
then  and  again  smote  lustily  with  the  iron  clapper 
upon  that  infernal  brass  bell.  The  Princess  covered 
her  ears  with  her  hands. 

"Can't  you,"  she  asked,  when  the  clangor  had 
ceased,  "stop  ringing  it  for  a  few  minutes  so  that  the 
others  will  have  a  chance  to  sleep?  There  is  some- 
thing I  want  to  talk  to  you  about." 

"It  would  wake  my  brother  like  an  alarm  clock," 
he  said  grimly,  "if  I  stopped  ringing  this  thing  for 
more  than  a  minute  and  a  half.  But  he  is  safe  to 
stay  asleep  all  right  as  long  as  I  keep  it  going.  He 
didn't  turn  in  until  six  bells — that's  three  o'clock  in 
the  morning." 

The  Princess  was  surprised  that  it  was  as  late 
as  that  and  wanted  to  know  why  they  hadn't  got  to 
Michigan  City  long  ago. 

The  breeze  had  fallen  dead,  he  told  her,  except 
for  an  occasional  puff,  about  midnight.  They'd 
drifted  more  or  less  but  hadn't  really  kept  steerage- 


144  REAL  LIFE 

way,  and  then  the  fog  had  shut  down  upon  them. 
His  brother  had  kept  sail  on  the  Sally,  however, 
making  what  he  could  of  an  occasional  capful  of  air 
until,  heaving  the  lead,  he  had  found  less  than  three 
fathoms  of  water.  That  showed  him  that  he  had 
got  out  of  his  course  somehow,  so  he  had  immedi- 
ately cast  anchor  to  wait  for  the  fog  to  lift. 

There  probably  would  be  a  breeze  of  some  sort 
about  daybreak  that  would  blow  away  the  fog  and 
permit  them  to  set  sail  again.  Within  an  hour  that 
might  be,  he  thought.  From  the  whitening  color  of 
the  mist,  the  dawn  must  already  be  breaking. 

The  Princess  shivered  as  much  with  excitement 
as  with  cold.  Thereupon  Joe  stripped  off  his 
sweater  and  insisted  upon  her  putting  it  on.  After 
a  moment  of  protest  she  yielded  and  let  him  help  her 
into  it. 

She  must  have  been,  I  think,  just  about  the  only 
pretty  girl  of  twenty  in  the  world  who'd  never 
played  a  game  like  this  before — which  shows  how 
unnecessary  a  thing  experience  is.  It  was  an  im- 
memorial instinct  that  told  the  Princess  to  accept  a 
service  she  didn't  need  as  the  prelude  to  asking  for 
one  she  did.     He  was  very  shy  about  touching  her. 


THE  FOG-BELL  145 

she  noticed,  and  he  went  back  with  a  sort  of  panicky- 
enthusiasm  to  banging  his  bell. 

She  was  a  little  in  doubt  where  to  begin,  but  he 
saved  her  the  trouble  by  saying,  as  he  struck  the  last 
blow,  "There  was  something,  didn't  you  say,  that 
you  wanted  to  talk  to  me  about?" 

"It  all  depends,"  the  Princess  answered,  "on 
whether  you  know  who  I  really  am.  Because  if  you 
don't  know,  why  of  course  you  wouldn't  believe  it  if 
I  were  to  tell  you." 

"Yes;  I  know,"  he  assured  her.  "It  seems  too 
wonderful  to  be  true ;  or  it  did  while  you  were  down 
there  in  the  forehold  and  I  sat  here  thinking  about  it. 
But  I  didn't  really  doubt  it  even  then  because,  you 
see,  people  who  just  look  like  other  people — other 
great  people — well,  that's  all  they  do — they  look 
like  them.  But  you  aren't  like  that.  You  under- 
stand what  I  mean,  don't  you  ?" 

The  Princess's  nod  of  eager  assent  was,  I'm 
afraid,  histrionic,  for  she  hadn't  been  listening.  Al- 
ready she  was  drawing  her  next  arrow  back  to  the 
head. 

"Well,  then,"  she  said,  dispatching  it,  "if  you 
really  know  who  I  am,  will  you  take  my  word  for 


146  REAL  LIFE 

Bill  and  help  me  get  him  away  before  they  can  put  us 
in  jail  at  Michigan  City  ?" 

She  was  quite  prepared  for  his  writhing  at  that, 
and  was  not  at  all  disconcerted.  She  may  even  have 
been  faintly  pleased,  who  shall  say,  over  his  making 
it  plain  that  Bill  was  bitter  to  swallow.  She  didn't 
hurry  at  all  to  reinforce  her  request  with  pleas  and 
arguments.  Somehow  it  was  given  to  her  to  know 
that  he'd  find  silence  harder  to  resist  than  anything 
else. 

"Of  course,"  he  said,  after  another  bout  of  bell- 
ringing,  "I'd  do  pretty  near  anything  in  the  world 
that  would  be — well — a  real  service  to  you,  you 
know.  And  I  suppose  helping  you  run  away  with 
that  foreigner  seems  to  you  like  about  the  biggest 
service  anyone  could  possibly  do  for  you.  That's 
how  it  seems  now,  this  morning.  But  what  I'd  hate 
to  have  happen  beyond  anything  I  can  think  of 
would  be  to  have  you  look  back  at  this  day  from  a 
week  from  now,  or  a  month,  and  think  that  if  I'd 
been  a  real  friend  of  yours  I'd  have  done  something 
— anything — just  to  keep  you  from  running  away 
with  him.  I  know  that  sounds  cheeky,  but  I  don't 
mean  it  that  way." 

"Oh,"   the  Princess  said,  "that's  all  right,   of 


THE  FOG-BELL  147 

course,  though  I  don't  see  why  you  should  be 
afraid  I'd  feel  like  that  Anyhow,  I'll  promise  you 
that  I  won't." 

Most  of  Joe's  feelings  found  an  outlet  through 
the  bell  clapper,  but  there  was  still  some  left  to  spill 
over  into  his  next  words. 

"That's  just  like  a  girl — ^millions  of  girls — who 
feel  just  as  sure  as  you  do  right  now ;  and  then  find 
out  when  it  is  too  late  that  they  were  mistaken." 

"What  do  you  mean — too  late?"  asked  the 
Princess. 

There  wasn't  light  enough  to  reveal  poor  Joe's 
blushes,  but  his  voice  betrayed  him. 

"Why,"  he  said,  "when  you  marry — or — or. .  .'* 

"But,"  the  Princess  stammered  through  chatter- 
ing teeth,  "I  am  not  going  to  marry  him.  It — it's 
not  like  that  at  all.  I'm  not  running  away  with  him. 
I'm  helping  him  run  away.** 

This  was  perfectly  true,  you  know.  One  hemi- 
sphere— the  Sancho  Panza  hemisphere  of  the  Prin- 
cess's mind — didn't  conflict  at  all  with  the  other — 
|;  Don  Quixote — half;  with  the  radiant  daydream 
wherein  poor  Bill,  revealed  as  the  rightful  heir,  the 
true  prince,  had  asked  her  to  become  his  queen,  and 
they  lived  happy  ever  after  in  the  Kingdom  of  Zen- 


I4S  REAL  LIFE 

da.  Nor,  in  turn,  did  this  shining  future  interfere 
in  the  least  with  her  acceptance  of  the  fact  that  she 
must  be  in  Hollywood  and  at  work  out  on  the  lot 
next  Wednesday  morning.  One  could  not,  however, 
have  expected  young  Joe  to  work  this  out  for 
himself. 

"I'm  awfully  glad  you  told  me  that,"  he  said, 
with  an  enthusiasm  which  made  the  Princess  flinch 
a  little  and  wonder  whether  she  was  deceiving  him. 
"I  wish,"  he  went  on,  "that  you'd  tell  me  more  about 
Bill,  as  you  call  him;  who  he  is,  I  mean  and  why 
he's  running  away." 

"But  you  see,"  said  the  Princess,  "I  don't  know 
myself — hardly  anything  more  than  I  told  your 
brother.  He's  running  away  from  his  uncle  because 
his  uncle's  been  cruel  to  him.  And  his  uncle  is  try- 
ing awfully  hard  to  catch  him.  He's  got  detectives 
— private  detectives  because  he  doesn't  dare  tell  the 
police — watching  for  him  at  every  hotel  and  railway 
station  in  Chicago.  And  he  did  chase  us  all  the  way 
to  Jackson  Park  and  we  only  got  away  from  him  by 
hiding  here  on  the  yacht." 

"But  who  is  he  ?"  Joe  demanded. 

The  Princess  admitted  that  she  didn't  know,  add- 
ing, "He's  asked  me  not  to  try  to  find  out." 


THE  FOG-BELL  149 

"Not  to. .  . .  !"  Joe  gasped  and  went  on  to  ex- 
press his  exasperated  astonishment  better  than  he 
could  have  done  in  words  by  banging  a  furious  toc- 
sin upon  the  bell.  If  that  sort  of  noise  was  what  his 
brother  needed  to  keep  him  asleep  this  outburst  must 
have  submerged  him  deep  indeed. 

"I  never  saw  him,"  the  Princess  went  on  to  de- 
clare when  she  could  again  be  audible,  "until  yester- 
day afternoon,  and  I  don't  know  his  name  except 
that  Bill  Lawrence  is  the  translation  of  it  from  some 
foreign  language  or  other.  And  he  said  he  liked 
having  me  help  him  just  for  himself  without  my 
knowing  who  he  really  was.  He  said  he'd  tell  me, 
all  about  himself  if  I  asked  him.  But  I  wouldn't  do 
it  for  anything  in  the  world." 

Joe  wrung  his  hands  in  honest  despair. 

"But  how  do  you  know,"  he  demanded,  "that 
anything  he  has  told  you  is  true?  How  do  you 
know  he  hasn't  done  something  perfectly  horrible — 
some  crime  that  he  has  run  away  from?  Maybe 
that's  why  his  head's  shaved." 

The  Princess  reached  out  an  adventurous  hand 
and  laid  it  upon  his  knee. 

"Joe,"  she  said,  and  at  the  touch  and  at  the  sound 
of  his  name  a  charge  of  some  twenty  thousand  volts 


I50  REAL  LIFE 

went  through  him — "Joe,"  she  demanded  with  a 
steady  look  into  his  eyes,  "how  did  you  know  that 
I'm  really  Leda  Swan?  It  was  just  because  you 
know  I  couldn't  be  pretending  to  be.  Well,  I  know 
about  Bill  in  the  same  way.  I  knew  he  was  some- 
body wonderful  the  very  second  I  looked  at  him. 
That's  why  I  saved  his  life  from  the  motor  truck  and 
carried  him  away  in  a  taxicab.  I  know  he's  good 
and  I  know  he's  told  me  the  truth.  I  wouldn't  even 
try  to  make  your  brother  or  the  other  man  believe 
that,  but  I  thought  you  could  because  you'd  believed 
in  me  in  exactly  the  same  way.  Well,  I  ask  you  to 
take  my  word  for  Bill.  I'm  not  going  to  give  him 
up  until  he's  safe  from  his  uncle — out  at  Hollywood 
or  somewhere.  He's  just  as  helpless  as  a  baby.  If  I 
gave  him  up  I  think  he'd  just  die.  So  I'm  not  going 
to.  But  if  you'll  help  us  I'll  be  grateful  to  you  as 
long  as  I  live." 

"I  think,"  said  Joe,  after  a  long  silence — and 
awe  would  have  stilled  his  voice  to  a  whisper  even  if 
caution  had  not  imposed  it  as  a  necessity — "I  think 
that  you're  the  most  wonderful  person  in  the  world. 
I  think. ..."  But  here  words  failed  him  altogether 
and  he  caught  up  the  Princess's  hand,  then  dropped 
it  precipitately  and  seized  the  bell  clapper  instead. 


THE  FOG-BELL  151 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  turned  away  from  him 
and  clasped  her  own  two  hands  tight  together.  Life 
certainly  was  a  wonder-box  of  thrills,  once  you  could 
get  away  and  begin  enjoying  it  on  your  own.  Here, 
with  Bill  barely  a  dozen  hours  old  in  her  experience, 
came  Joe,  knocking  at  the  door  demanding  to  be  cast 
for  a  part  in  the  play.  As  what?  As  the  adoring 
hopeless  lover  ?  As  the  one  who  went  to  the  giiillo^ 
tine  in  Bill's  place  so  that  she  could  be  happy?  As 
the  one  carried  away  by  the  flood  from  the  burst 
dam  after  he  had  come  riding  down  the  valley  and 
warned  her  and  Bill  in  time  for  them  to  escape  the 
peril?  She  felt  a  lump  coming  into  her  throat. 
What  a  wonderful  thing  life  was! 

Joe  stood  beside  her  and  pointed.  "Look!"  he 
whispered. 

The  mirror  surface  of  the  lake  was  beginning  to 
shine.  The  mist,  silvered  by  the  dawn,  was  rolling 
itself  up  like  a  bat  of  cotton  wool.  But  what  Joe 
pointed  at,  it  took  her  a  minute  to  see. 

Land !  Ghostly  land  through  the  raveling  mist ; 
sandhills;  illimitable  sandhills,  dotted,  and  here  and 
there  fairly  covered,  with  foliage;  not  a  sign  either 
way,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  pierce,  of  human  habita- 


i'52  REAL  LIFE 

tion.  It  might  be  the  coast  of  a  lost  continent;  it 
might  be  the  shore  of  Robinson  Crusoe's  island. 

Joe  took  her  arm,  turned  her  around  and  pointed 
again, 

"That  speck  away  off  there,  that  you  can  just 
barely  see,  is  the  Michigan  City  light.  We're  off  the 
Indiana  dunes;  and  there's  no  such  hiding-place 
within  a  thousand  miles." 

She  faced  him  and  took  both  his  hands.  "You 
will  help  us,  then?"  she  whispered. 

"I'll  do  anything  in  the  world  for  you,"  he  said. 

Once  more  he  flung  himself  upon  the  bell. 


'  CHAPTER  X 


FATE  OF  THE  MUTINEER 


THE  PRINCESS,  as  she  looked  at  him,  became 
additionally  aware  how  handsome  he  was ;  quite 
a  different  type  from  Bill  (the  original  Bill  with  his 
hair  on) — not  exotic  a  bit.  His  dark  hair  was  per- 
ceptibly wavy,  his  eyelashes  were  rather  long  and 
his  eyes  were  blue,  bluish  gray,  anyhow.  His  face 
was  broad  and  short  and  his  head  rather  small.  He 
reminded  the  Princess  of  a  tomcat  she  once  had  had 
for  a  pet.  The  way  he  said,  "I'll  do  anything  in  the 
world  for  you,"  certainly  produced  sympathetic  vi- 
brations in  her  heart. 

And  this  effect  was  not  lessened  by  the  fact  that 
the  one  thing  she  asked  she  found  it  impossible  to 
induce  him  to  accede  to.  Her  plan  of  escape  was 
simply  to  steal  down  into  the  cabin  as  soon  as  it 
should  be  light  enough  to  distinguish  which  of  the 
three  sleepers  was  Bill,  wake  him  without  rousing 

153 


154  REAL  LIFE 

the  others,  get  him  up  on  deck  and  then  into  the 
dinghy,  and  finally  row  him  ashore  herself.  All  she 
wanted  of  Joe  was  that  he  keep  his  brother  lulled 
asleep  by  continuing  to  bang  the  bell.  Of  the  go- 
ings-on of  the  pair  of  fugitives  until  they  had  aban- 
doned the  dinghy  on  the  beach,  he  was  to  feign  total 
unconsciousness.  The  Sally's  people  could  easily 
enough  recover  the  dinghy  later;  or  for  that  matter 
the  Princess  herself,  after  landing  Bill,  would  under- 
take to  row  the  boat  back  to  the  sloop  and  swim 
ashore. ... 

"You  know  perfectly  well,"  Joe  said,  punctuat- 
ing this  sentence  with  a  vicious  crack  or  two  at  the 
bell,  "that  I'm  not  worrying  about  that  fool  dinghy. 
I  could  swim  ashore  for  it  myself  as  easily  as  not. 
But  there's  only  one  sensible  plan,  and  that  would  be 
for  me  to  row  Bill  ashore,  leaving  you  here  to  go  on 
ringing  the  bell.  I'd  start  him  off  in  the  right  direc- 
tion and  then  row  back  to  the  Sally.  He  could  find 
his  way  to  a  station  on  the  interurban  electric  easy 
enough  and  go  wherever  he  pleased." 

The  Princess's  objection  to  this  plan,  the  more 
vehement  because  she  felt  a  certain  weakness  about 
it,  was  that  she  had  promised  to  take  Bill  to 
Hollywood. 


FATE  OF  THE  MUTINEER  155 

"He  can  get  to  Hollywood  all  right,"  Joe  as- 
serted. "All  he  has  to  do  is  to  walk  south  to  the 
Lincoln  Highway.  Once  he  gets  there  he  can  bum 
his  way  clear  to  the  coast,  if  he  likes,  in  automobiles. 
If  he  wants  to  hide  out  for  a  while  or  get  away  from 
anybody  there  couldn't  be  a  safer  way  of  doing  it 
than  that. 

"For  that  matter,"  he  went  on,  having  noted 
that  the  Princess  didn't  seem  much  impressed  by  this 
program,  "if  it's  only  in  Chicago  that  they're  look- 
ing for  him.  he  can  get  to  Los  Angeles  easy  enough 
by  train.  The  Michigan  Central  has  a  branch  line 
over  to  Joliet  where  he  can  take  the  California 
Limited  just  an  hour  or  two  out  of  Chicago.  I'll  tell 
all  that  to  Bill  while  I'm  rowing  him  ashore  and 
setting  him  on  his  way.  Then  I'll  come  back  on 
board  and  we'll  sail  to  Michigan  City  and  you  can 
telephone  your  friends  that  you're  all  right.  Or  you 
can  just  take  a  fast  train  back  to  town  and  turn  up 
as  if  nothing  had  happened.  You  can't  deny,"  he 
asserted,  finding  her  eye  and  holding  it  with  a  look 
of  great  intensity,  " — you  can't  deny  that  that  plan's 
simple  at  least." 

The  Princess  blushed.  "I  do  deny  it,"  she  re- 
torted.    "It's  all  very  nice  for  everybody  but  Bill. 


156  REAL  LIFE 

But  what  does  he  know  about  bumming  rides  or 
looking  up  timetable  connections?  I  promised  him 
I  was  going  to  look  after  him.  I  promised  I'd  see 
him  through  till  he  was  safe,  and  I'm  going  to  do  it." 

There  was  a  momentary  silence;  then  Joe  an- 
nounced an  inflexible  resolution. 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "If  this  foreigner  needs 
you  to  protect  him,  then  I'm  sure  that  you  need  me 
to  protect  you.  I'll  go  along  too.  We'll  all  go 
ashore  in  the  dinghy  and  we'll  stick  together  until 
Bill's  out  of  whatever  danger  he's  in  and  you're  safe 
in  the  hands  of  your  friends.  There  isn't  any  objec- 
tion to  that — is  there  ?" 

"It  isn't  necessary  a  bit,"  the  Princess  protested. 
"It  would  make  your  brother  horribly  angry  with 
you." 

"It  sure  would,"  said  Joe  grimly.  "George 
would  call  it  desertion  at  least,  and  probably  mutiny. 
But  that's  nothing  to  me  compared  to  knowing 
you're  safe." 

"Safe  from  what?"  the  Princess  demanded. 

And  to  this  question  she  failed  to  get  any  sort  of 
explicit  answer.  Joe  grumbled  and  blushed  and 
finally  said  he  didn't  know. 

"I  don't  know  why,"  she  cried  petulantly — the 


FATE  OF  THE  MUTINEER  157 

more  so  because  of  a  pretty  good  notion  that  she  did 
— "I  don't  know  why  you  can't  be  sensible  about  it, 
instead  of  making  difficulties  for  both  of  us.  Be- 
cause you  are.  Your  brother  would  never  take  you 
sailing  again  on  his  yacht.  And  I  know  if  you  came 
ashore  with  us  you'd  be  perfectly  horrid  to  Bill.  I 
can  tell  by  the  way  you  look  whenever  you  say  his 
name." 

"I'd  try  not  to,"  he  said  in  a  voice  hoarse  with  an 
irrepressible  emotion.  "But  you  do  know  why,  don't 
you?  Can't  you  see  why  it's  perfectly  unendurable 
to  think  of  putting  you  ashore  with  him  over  there 
on  the  dunes  alone?  Nobody  to  turn  to  for  help  if 
you  found  you  were  mistaken  in  him!  If — if  it 
hadn't  been  for  what  you  told  me,  that — that  you 
weren't  in  love  with  him  nor  going  to  marry  him 
nor  anything  like  that — if  you  hadn't  told  me  that, 
maybe,  I'd  have  felt  differently  about  it — I  don't 
know ;  or  perhaps  it  would  have  been  worse.  Oh,  I 
wonder  if  you  understand !" 

The  Princess  did  understand — not  perhaps 
the  logical,  literal  meaning  of  Joe's  meandering 
words,  but  the  broad  fact  that  a  man  was  telling  her 
he  loved  her.  Though  it  did  seem  a  little  incredible 
that  he  should  be  telling  her  all  by  himself  with  no 


158  REAL  LIFE 

director  standing  beside  the  camera  chanting  in- 
structions at  him : 

"Now  look  into  her  eyes ....  Now  she  is  begin- 
ning to  crack  up ;  reach  for  her.  Easy  there !  Wait 
till  I  say.  Now!  Kiss  her!  Hold  it!  That's 
good." 

— It  seemed,  as  I  say,  a  little  incredible  and  the 
more  thrilling  to  have  a  young  man  plenty  good- 
looking  enough  to  be  a  picture  actor  going  through 
all  these  preliminaries  voluntarily,  spontaneously, 
gratuitously. 

It  was  astonishing  what  a  difference  it  made, 
having  it  done  like  this.  She  felt  her  jaw  muscles 
locking  together  and  a  lump  coming  into  her  throat 
and  a  perfectly  terrifying  weakness  about  the  knees. 
It  was  so  sad,  a  hopeless  love  like  this.  He  was  so 
young  to  be  condemned  to  go  through  life  until  he 
was  a  bent,  palsied  old  man  of  forty-five  with  noth- 
ing whatever  to  live  upon  but  memories — the  mem- 
ory of  this  one  night  on  his  brother's  yacht.  She 
was  surprised,  and  in  a  way  pleased,  to  find  that  her 
eyes  were  brimming  with  tear? — perfectly  natural, 
honest  tears — no  glycerine  about  them,  nor  onion  in 
the  handkerchief.  They  were,  she  felt,  a  fitting 
tribute  to  the  burial  of  a  beautiful  young  love. 


FATE  OF  THE  MUTINEER  1 59 

The  effect  of  her  tears  pretty  well  overwhelmed 
Joe.  It  was  a  case,  once  more,  of  having  started  a 
hare  and  bringing  a  tiger  to  bay. 

"Do  you,"  he  began,  and  stopped  the  chattering 
of  his  teeth  by  locking  them  together — "do  you 
really  care  ?    Oh,  don't  cry !    Please  don't  cry !" 

"I  can't  help  crying  a  little,"  said  the  Princess 
pathetically.  "I  don't  care,  that  way,  but  I'll  never 
forget  you  as  long  as  I  live.  And  I  want  you  to 
kiss  me  goodbye." 

She  swayed  toward  him  a  little,  as  he  took  her 
shoulders  in  his  hands,  and  lifted  her  own  hands  so 
that  her  palms  and  forearms  came  against  his  chest. 
She  turned  up  her  face  to  his  and  then — just  then — 
she  felt  him  stiffen  and  stop;  felt  his  hands  pushing 
her  away. 

Her  first  thought  was  that  he  had  chanced  at 
that  moment  to  remember  his  forgotten  duty  at  the 
fog-bell,  and  this  idea  of  hers  brought  it  about  that 
his  hands  fell  from  her  shoulders  before  she  relin- 
quished her  hold  upon  the  rolled  edges  of  his  sailor 
collar.  It  was  a  matter,  of  course,  of  only  a  few 
fragments  of  a  second  before  the  contact  was  com- 
pletely broken  and  she  had  whirled  around  to  see 
what  it  was  that  had  prevented  that  kiss. 


i6o  REAL  LIFE 

When  you  know  what  it  was  she  saw  you  will 
not  wonder,  I  think,  that  she  uttered  an  only  half- 
suppressed  shriek.  Bill !  Poor  Bill !  Poor  dear  un- 
comprehending (how  could  he  comprehend?)'  Bill 
was  gazing  at  her  with  the  most  tragic  eyes  she  had 
ever  seen  in  a  human  face. 

That  is  not  quite  all  of  it.  That  is  not  what  the 
Princess  shrieked  at.  What  she  saw  was  only  the 
upper  part  of  Bill.  He  was  truncated  at  the  waist, 
to  put  it  visually,  by  the  fact  that  he  had  come  only 
halfway  through  the  hatch.  He  was  still  standing 
on  the  duffle-bags  in  the  forehold  and  he  hadn't 
even  pulled  his  arms  through,  preparatory  to  a 
spring  to  the  deck,  which  increased  his  appearance  of 
having  been  artificially  bisected.  He  had,  however, 
for  some  reason  or  other,  perhaps  on  account  of  the 
cold  and  damp  of  the  early  morning,  put  on  his  wig, 
and  this,  oddly  enough,  made  him  look  more  unreal 
than  ever. 

For  a  moment  as  I  said,  the  sight  of  him  de- 
stroyed the  moral  and  mental  equilibrium  of  the 
Princess  altogether.  She  uttered  a  shriek  of  dismay, 
clapped  her  hand  over  her  mouth  and  stood  staring 
— in  ruins! 

Then  she  recovered  her  balance  as  quickly  as 


FATE  OF  THE  MUTINEER  i6i 

she  had  lost  it.  Something  was  happening  down 
there  in  the  forehold  around  Bill's  legs.  There  were 
voices.  Bill  stopped  staring  at  her  to  take  an  expos- 
tulatory  glance  through  the  bit  of  hatchway  which 
his  body  was  not  occupying. 

With  the  speed  of  a  terrier  springing  to  a  rat- 
hole  the  Princess  went  scuttering  aft,  flung  herself 
down  upon  the  transom,  shoved  to  the  sliding  hatch, 
slammed  the  two  doors  of  the  companionway  and 
slipped  the  bar  of  the  padlock  through  the  hasp. 
Just  in  time!  For  she  heard  in  the  cabin,  down  be- 
low, the  simultaneous  rush  of  two  pairs  of  feet,  and 
there  was  a  thump  against  the  doors  just  a  second 
after  she  had  made  them  fast.  She  danced  to  her 
feet,  shouted  to  Joe,  "Quick!  Pull  him  through!" 
and  rushed  forward  again  to  help. 

What  she  did,  arriving  upon  this  scene,  was  to 
seize  the  circular  hatch  cover.  Admirable  foresight 
this  proved  to  be ;  for  it  had  seemed  to  take  forever 
to  extricate  Bill's  arms  and  legs  from  that  small  cir- 
cular hole,  and  the  infuriated  skipper  down  below, 
outraged  and  astonished  as  he  was,  and  only  a  few 
seconds  out  of  a  sound  sleep,  did  not  waste  much 
time  at  the  locked  doors  of  the  companionway  before 
rushing   forward   again.     His   hands  had   already 


i62  REAL  LIFE 

gripped  the  hatch  coaming  before  Bill's  feet  were 
fairly  out  of  the  way. 

But  the  Princess,  indomitably  resolute,  a  fanatic 
excitement  blazing  in  her  eyes,  was  standing  over 
the  hatchway  with  tliat  round  steel  cover,  its  edge 
like  that  of  a  baking-powder  tin,  in  her  hands. 

"Look  outl"  she  said  briefly.  "I'm  going  to 
shut  it !" 

Evidently  the  skipper  believed  she  was,  for  he 
snatched  his  hands  away  just  as  the  cover,  with  a 
brutal  absence  of  hesitation,  was  thrust  home  and 
rotated  over  the  bayonet  catch. 

The  mutineers  were  in  complete  possession  of 
the  Sally's  decks. 

Wide-eyed,  Bill  and  Joe  stood  gazing  at  the 
Princess.  Bill  was  silent,  but  Joe  muttered,  "My 
God!" 

Ten  seconds,  perhaps,  after  this  climax,  the 
Princess  devoted  to  reflection.  She  was  looking  at 
neither  of  the  two  young  men;  her  unfocused  gaze 
lay  right  between  them.  Then,  nodding  to  herself 
an  acknowledgment  that  her  plans  were  satisfactory, 
she  turned  rather  brusquely  to  Bill  and  led  him  aft, 
laid  hold  on  the  dinghy  painter  and  hauled  it  in  until 
the  little  boat  was  broadside  to  the  stern. 


FATE  OF  THE  MUTINEER  163 

"The  first  thing"  to  do,"  she  said,  "is  for  you  to 
get  in  here  and  sit  very  still  in  the  middle  of  the  back 
seat.  Don't  move;  and  remember,  whatever  hap- 
pens, don't  try  to  stand  up." 

She  was  busy  untying  the  painter  as  she  spoke 
and  having  accomplished  this  she  hauled  it  in  short 
and  made  it  fast  around  a  cleat  with  a  simple  half- 
hitch. 

"Come  along,"  she  now  admonished  Bill  briefly ; 
"we  haven't  any  time  to  waste.  Take  tight  hold  of 
my  shoulder  and  step  right  into  the  middle  of  the 
boat." 

She  was  rather  glad  that  her  position,  bending 
over  and  holding  the  gunwale  with  both  hands,  gave 
her  no  opportunity  to  look  into  his  face.  She  didn't 
know,  for  a  fact,  whether  or  not  he  was  capable  of 
negotiating  the  step  down  into  that  wobbly  little 
dinghy  without  going  on  overboard.  If  there  was 
a  wrong  way  of  doing  anything  of  this  sort  he 
seemed  inspired  to  manage  it.  She  heaved  a  long 
breath  of  relief  when  the  thing  was  successfully  ac- 
complished, and  spared  Bill  a  glance  of 
congratulation. 

But  the  look  he  met  it  with  was  one  of  absolutely 
tragic  despair,  and  it  broke  over  her  that  he  probably 


1 64  REAU  LIFE 

thought,  having  seen  her  in  that  highly  equivocal 
attitude  with  Joe  a  few  moments  previously,  that  her 
intention  now  was  simply  to  cast  him  adrift.  There 
wasn't  time  to  expostulate  with  him  over  so  injuri- 
ous a  lack  of  faith,  and  she  had  not,  for  the  moment, 
even  the  inclination  to  try  to  relieve  his  fears.  Her 
emotion  had  to  find  another  outlet. 

As  she  turned  away  from  Bill,  Joe's  hand  fell 
upon  her  shoulder. 

"I'm  going  with  you,  you  know,"  he  said. 

"And  leave  them,"  she  asked,  with  a  nod  toward 
the  companionway,  "to — starve  in  there?" 

"It  won't  take  them  long  to  get  out,"  he  told  her 
grimly.  "We  had  better  be  getting  away.  We 
haven't  any  time  to  waste;  and  it  will  be  wasting  it 
to  try  to  get  me  to  stay  behind,  because  I  won't" 

With  a  confiding  movement,  suggestive  of  limit- 
less possibilities,  she  slipped  her  hand  inside  his  arm 
and  led  him  forward.  As  he  turned  a  questioning 
look  into  her  face  she  made  a  slight  backward  move- 
ment of  the  head  which  said  as  plainly  as  words 
could  have  done  that  for  some  purpose  of  hers  she 
wanted  him  out  of  Bill's  hearing.  She  led  him  for- 
ward beyond  the  mast,  beyond  the  forehold  hatch, 
quite  into  the  Sally's  bows. 


FATE  OF  THE  MUTINEER  165 

"You  better  tell  me  quickly,  whatever  it  is,"  he 
said,  "because  they  may  be  getting  out  any  minute." 

"I  know/'  she  nodded.  "But,  I  do  want  to  tell 
you  first  that  I'm  sorry." 

His  interjection,  "For  what?"  had  possibly  just 
the  faintest  flavor  of  suspicion  about  it,  but  she  went 
straight  on  without  explaining. 

"And  I'd  like  you  to  kiss  me  now,  because  you 
didn't  before." 

Once  more  her  two  hands  possessed  themselves 
of  the  rolled  edges  of  his  collar  and  her  forearms 
rested  against  her  chest.  She  held  up  her  face  to  him 
and  Joe,  a  little  incredulously,  kissed  her.  She 
leaned  away  to  look  into  his  face. 

"You  can  tell  them,"  she  said,  slowly  and  very 
distinctly,  "it  was  Bill  that  did  it." 

She  gave  him  then,  instantly  and  with  all  the 
nervous  force  of  her  perfectly  poised  young  body,  a 
tnost  tremendous  push,  and  he  went  over,  sprawling 
backward  into  the  water.  During  just  the  space  of 
time  it  took  for  the  recovery  of  her  own  balance  she 
uttered  a  little  sobbing  laugh ;  then  in  a  scared  rush 
sped  aft,  cast  the  painter  off  the  cleat,  dropped  into 
the  dinghy,  shoved  off,  shipped  her  oars — and  pulled 
for  the  shore. 


CHAPTER  XI 

PROGRESS  OF  THE  AVALANCHE 

AT  a  quarter  to  eleven — this  must  have  been  just 
about  the  time  that  the  fog  over  Lake  Michi- 
gan began  setthng  down  upon  the  Sally — the  city- 
editor  looked  at  his  watch. 

"You  can  have  another  forty-five  minutes,  Miss 
Alden,"  he  said  to  his  star  reporter,  "to  get  that 
story  nailed  down.  If  we  haven't  anything  corrob- 
orative by  then,  I'm  going  to  kill  it  To  me  the 
thing  smells  of  fish,  and  the  odor  has  grown  strong- 
er from  hour  to  hour.  That  chauffeur  is  a  patho- 
logical liar.  He  has  contradicted  himself  on  a  dozen 
details,  and  his  main  story  is  preposterous — an  anar- 
chist with  a  black  mustache  pursuing  Leda  Swan  and 
Boris  Lazaref  in  a  taxicabl" 

"We're  not  assuming,"  Miss  Alden  interrupted, 
"that  the  man  in  the  cab  was  Lazaref." 

"Isn't  that  chauffeur's  description  of  him  cut  to 

i66 


PROGRESS  OF  THE  AVALANCHE     167 

fit?"  the  editor  demanded.  "A  pale,  long-haired 
gink  in  a  plush  hat  and  cutaway  coat  ?  The  tip  from 
the  detective  agency  was  that  he  had  disappeared 
right  after  his  recital,  when  he  had  been  dressed  like 
that.  I  tell  you  it  looks  more  like  a  plant  every  min- 
ute. Some  angel  child  of  a  press  agent  has  been 
cooking  this  up  for  weeks.  As  if  they  both  hadn't 
had  publicity  enough  as  it  is !" 

"I  know,"  the  girl  admitted,  "but  I  think  you're 
wrong.  That  was  Leda  Swan's  watch  in  the  taxi- 
cab,  and  it  was  her  mesh  bag  that  the  other  man 
found  in  the  alley.    And  she  has  disappeared." 

"Of  course  she's  disappeared!"  snorted  the 
editor.  "They  couldn't  start  a  thing  like  this  until 
they  tucked  her  away  somewhere.  I'd  like  to  get  the 
real  story  and  show  *em  up." 

"That  woman.  Miss  Smith,  her  social  secretary, 
or  chaperon — whatever  you  want  to  call  her,"  the 
girl  persisted,  "is  absolutely  frantic.  If  she  knows 
where  Leda  Swan  is  then  I've  got  softening  of  the 
brain.  And  there's  a  man  named  Patrick  who  seems 
to  be  a  sort  of  chief  of  staff.  I  was  talking  to  him  a 
half-hour  ago,  and  while  he's  got  himself  better  in 
hand  he  isn't  a  bit  less  horrified,  I  don't  believe. 
Besides,  I  don't  see  why  they  should  try  to  fake  a 


i68  REAL  LIFE 

disappearance  when  they  can  get  an  eight-column 
head  on  the  front  page  of  every  evening  paper  just 
by  stopping  over  night  in  Chicago  on  the  way  to  the 
coast." 

"Because  they're  insatiable,  that's  why!"  he 
retorted.  "But  as  I  say,  you  can  have  until  eleven- 
thirty  to  get  some  sort  of  real  corroboration  for  that 
Baron  Miinchhausen  of  a  chauffeur." 

A  hovering  office-boy,  seeing  the  conversation 
about  to  end,  came  up  and  laid  a  card  on  the  city 
editor's  desk. 

Absently  he  took  it  in  his  fingers  and  scowled  at 
it,  then  held  it  out  to  the  girl. 

"You  may  as  well  stick  around  a  minute,"  he 
said,  "till  you  hear  what  sort  of  fairy  story  this  bird 
is  going  to  tell  us." 

The  name  on  the  card  was  Sergius  Lazaref.  It 
was  a  white-faced,  black-mustached,  thoroughly  ex- 
otic-looking person  who  followed  the  card  to  the 
desk  a  moment  later.  He  was  laboring  evidently 
under  a  terrific  excitement. 

"Are  you  the  editor  of  this  newspaper?"  he 
demanded. 

"I'm  responsible  for  the  news  that  goes  into  it," 
the  editor  acknowledged. 


PROGRESS  OF  THE  AVALANCHE    169 

"Are  you  responsible  for  the  lies  that  are  put 
into  it?" 

"What's  the  particular  lie  that  you've  got  on 
your  mind?"  the  editor  asked. 

"You  have  sent  reporters  to  my  hotel  to  ask  if 
my  nephew,  Boris  Lazaref,  the  greatest  violinist  in 
the  world,  have  disappear — run  off.  That  is  a  lie, 
and  if  you  print  it  you  will  be  in  great  big  trouble. 
He  have  not  disappear.  He  give  a  recital  this  after- 
noon. Why  would  he  run  away  from  me — from  his 
uncle  who  have  always  look  after  him?  But  he 
come  home  very  tired.  He  have  dinner  quietly  in 
his  room.  He  go  to  bed.  But  because  I  will  not 
show  him  to  your  reporters  like  an  animal  in  the  zoo 
they  say  he  have  disappear." 

The  city  editor  glanced  up  and  was  a  little  an- 
noyed that  the  reporter,  despite  his  suggestion  that 
she  stand  by  during  this  interview,  had  walked 
away. 

"It  isn't  a  lie,  of  course,"  he  said  to  his  excited 
visitor,  "to  ask  whether  a  man  has  disappeared  or 
not,  and  when  he's  a  worldwide  celebrity  like  your 
nephew  it  isn't  even  an  impertinence.  We  were  told 
two  or  three  hours  ago  that  a  certain  detective 
agency  had  been  retained  to  find  him  and  that  every 


I70  REAL  LIFE 

hotel  and  railroad  station  in  the  city  was  being 
watched." 

Mr.  Sergius  Lazaref  s  head  thrust  itself  forward 
to  within  six  inches  of  the  editor's  face. 

"His  name!"  he  demanded.  "What  is  the  name 
of  the  serpent  who  have  tell  you  that  ?" 

The  editor  backed  away  and  got  out  his  handker- 
chief. "Of  course  I  can't  tell  you  that,"  he  said. 
"You  assure  me,  do  you,  that  it  isn't  true?" 

He  was  answered  by  a  rather  hollow  laugh,  in- 
volving an  alarming  display  of  teeth.  "True !  How 
would  the  invention  of  malice  be  true?  Why  would 
I  pay  good  money  to  detectives  to  find  my  nephew 
when  I  know,  this  moment,  where  he  is?  That  is  a 
joke  someone  have  make  up.  But  a  bad  joke,  and  he 
shall  pay . . . . " 

He  stopped  there  with  a  jerk,  his  eyes  on  the 
local-room  door,  which  had  just  been  opened. 

It  was  Priscilla  Alden  coming  back  with  a  man 
in  the  uniform  of  a  chauffeur  for  the  Yellow  Taxi 
Company.  This  man  also  stood  stock-still,  staring 
at  Lazaref. 

"That's  the  anarchist  who  chased  Miss  Swan 
and  me  all  the  way  to  Jackson   Park!"  he  said. 


PROGRESS  OF  THE  AVALANCHE     171 

"Where'd  you  get  him  ?    Ask  him  if  he  ain't.    You 
can't  believe  them  foreigners  on  oath,  but  ask  him." 

The  Russian  had  slowly  been  turning  purple. 
Now,  with  a  screech  that  diverted  the  entire  local 
room  from  all  thoughts  of  tomorrow's  paper,  he 
burst  upon  the  chauffeur. 

"You  stealer!  You  bandit!  Where  you  take 
my  nephew  ?  What  you  do  with  him  ?"  He  turned 
superbly  upon  the  editor.  "Have  them  lock  him 
up!"  he  commanded.  "I,  myself,  charge  him.  He 
have  kidnap  Boris  Lazaref,  the  greatest  violinist  in 
the  world  in  a  taxicab.  Him  and  a  curly-head  girl. 
I  have  pursue  but  I  cannot  catch.  Tell  me,  dog, 
what  you  do  with  him  ?" 

There  were  plenty  of  strong  men  at  hand  to  save 
him  from  the  onslaught  of  the  chauffeur.  A  few 
minutes  later,  after  the  room  had  quieted  down 
again : 

"Well,"  said  the  star  reporter,  "that  worked  bet- 
ter than  I  hoped.  But  I  had  a  hunch,  the  minute  Mr. 
Trotsky  came  in,  that  he  might  be  the  anarchist  that 
boy  had  been  talking  about." 

"Oh,  you're  all  right,"  the  city  editor  said,  "and 
your  story's  all  right.  We'll  take  a  chance  on  it. 
Nobody  could  plant  a  story  as  well  as  that.     But  I 


172  REAL  LIFE 

give  you  my  word,  I  can  still  smell  fish.  — What  is 
it,  Borden?" 

The  young  reporter  who  had  been  waiting 
stepped  up  a  little  as  if  the  city  editor's  desk  had  been 
a  headsman's  block,  manned  by  a  waiting  execu- 
tioner.    "I  couldn't  get  that  photograph,"  he  said. 

"Why  not?"  snapped  the  editor,  and  then 
straight  on  without  pause,  "It  doesn't  matter  why 
not.  There's  no  excuse  for  failing  to  get  a  photo- 
graph. You  understand  that,  don't  you?  Whose 
photograph  was  it  ?" 

*Tt  was  a  high-school  girl  who'd  disappeared; 
didn't  come  home  from  school.  We  got  a  City 
Press  flimsy  about  eight  o'clock.  You  sent  me  down 
to  get  a  photo  and  an  interv^iew  with  the  mother.  I 
didn't  think  the  picture  mattered  so  much  because 
the  girl  has  already  come  home." 

"Then  for  the  love  of  God,"  cried  the  editor, 
passionately,  "will  you  tell  me  why  you  are  wasting 
my  time  now?" 

"Why,  I  thought,"  said  the  young  reporter, 
"that  perhaps  there  might  be  a  sort  of  kidding  story 
in  it  anyway,  because  of  the  wild  alibi  she  had  for 
being  out  so  late.  She  was  down  in  Jackson  Park, 
she  said,  and  Leda  Swan  was  there  with  a  young 


PROGRESS  OF  THE  AVALANCHE    173 

man.  And  they  ran  away  from  somebody  and  hid 
on  board  a  yacht.  They  both  fell  in  the  water  get- 
ting aboard  from  a  little  boat.  This  girl  stayed  hid- 
ten  in  the  bushes  watching  for  Leda  to  come  ashore 
again.  But  she  didn't,  and  by  and  by  some  men 
came  out  in  another  boat  and  got  aboard  the  yacht 
and  sailed  away.  I  thought  it  might  make  a  couple 
of  sticks,  sort  of  joshing  it,  you  know;  show  how 
crazy  all  the  girls  are  about  Leda." 

"What,"  the  editor  asked,  after  a  silence  which 
the  young  man  found  frightfully  disconcerting, 
"was  the  name  of  the  yacht  that  Leda  Swan  and 
the  young  man  concealed  themselves  aboard?  Did 
the  young  lady  say  ?" 

jl  "She  mentioned  some  name;  'Sally,'  I  think.  I 
wasn't  paying  much  attention  to  that." 

I  "I  daresay  not,"  observed  the  editor  icily,  "since 
you're  trying  to  learn  to  be  a  reporter.  Call  up  the 
Jackson  Park  Yacht  Club  and  find  whether  they 
have  a  yacht  there  called  the  Sally  or  not.  Find  out 
if  it  went  out  this  evening,  and  if  so  what  its  desti- 
nation was." 

Five  minutes  later  the  young  man  came  back  to 
report  that  the  Sally  had  sailed  at  seven  o'clock  with 


174  REAL  LIFE 

the  owner — Franklin,  his  name  was — on  board,  for 
Michigan  City. 

Miss  Alden  looked  at  her  watch.  "I've  got 
plenty  of  time  to  make  the  midnight  train,"  she  said. 
"I'll  want  a  photographer,  of  course." 

The  editor  devoted  a  priceless  three  seconds  to 
reflection. 

"How  about  taking  Lazaref  along,  too?"  he 
asked- 

She  made  it  clear,  to  the  point  of  mutiny,  that 
she  would  not.  She  felt  she  had  enough  on  her 
hands  without  that  maniac.  All  the  same  the  ad- 
vantage of  losing  him  was  obvious,  and  the  chauf- 
feur, too,  for  that  matter. 

"All  right,"  the  editor  said,  as  he  started  for  the 
composing-room  to  lock  up  the  home  edition,  "I'll 
manage  it  for  you  somehow.  What's  a  small  crime 
or  so  to  a  city  editor?" 

*     *     * 

Telegram  : 

P.  Alden,  care  Western  Union,  Michigan  City. 
Borden  has  left  in  yellow  taxi  with  chauffeur  to 
cover  Crown  Point,  taking  Mr.  Trotsky  widi  him 
whom  he  will  keep  amused  as  long  as  possible. 
Communicate  Borden  if  clues  point  that  way. 


CHAPTER  XII 


INTO  THE  PRIMITIVE 


rIE  POSITION  of  a  rower  is  necessarily  retro- 
spective, and  much  as  the  Princess  would  have 
preferred  a  radical  obliteration  of  the  past,  a  fresh 
start  upon  a  new  leaf,  she  was  obliged  as  she  tugged 
at  the  oars  to  confront  in  the  background  the  Sally, 
where  she  had  so  abominably  betrayed  poor  Joe, 
and  in  the  foreground,  face  to  face  with  her  and  al- 
most near  enough  to  slap,  Bill,  for  whose  sake  she 
had  perfonned  that  act  of  treachery,  looking  at  her 
with  the  righteous  and  martyred  expression  of  a 
wronged  husband. 

She'd  like  to  know  what  right  he  had  to  look 
like  that;  but  her  passionate  proclamation  of  this 
wish  was  probably  disingenuous,  for  she  made  it  not 
to  Bill  but  to  herself  only.  She  didn't  want  to  start 
an  argument  with  him.  She  didn't  want  to  speak  to 
him  at  all;  she  wouldn't  until  he  began.    Hadn't  she 

175 


lye  REAL  LIFE 

laid  the  foundation,  in  all  she  had  done  for  him  since 
half-past  four  o'clock  yesterday  afternoon,  when  she 
had  saved  his  life,  for  a  faith  impregnable  to  all  as- 
sault? Hadn't  she  trusted  him  and  his  bare  word 
through  everything?  Hadn't  she  waited  upon  him 
hand  and  foot?  Hadn't  she  faced  prison  rather 
than  give  him  up  ?  Was  there  a  heroine  in  all  movie 
literature  who  had  done  more  for  a  hero,  or  so  much 
in  so  brief  a  span  of  hours?  But  all  of  that  counted 
for  nothing,  it  seemed,  against  the  mischance  of  his 
poking  his  head  up  through  the  forehatch  just  at  the 
one  precisely  wrong  moment ! 

She  wouldn't  have  been  so  vehement  about  this 
but  for  the  fact  that  down  in  her  own  heart  some- 
where was  a  voice  that  sided  with  Bill  against  her, 
telling  her  that  for  a  while,  in  thought  if  not  in  deed, 
she  had  been  faithless. 

Nothing  in  all  her  experience  in  the  screen  drama 
had  prepared  her  for  a  perverse  phenomenon  of  this 
sort.  She  had  been  led  to  suppose  that  when  a  girl 
fell  in  love — any  girl,  even  a  vampire — it  was  an 
unequivocal  one-hundred-per-cent  affair,  an  abso- 
lute preventive  against  all  errant  inclinations  for  the 
rest  of  her  life. 

Yet  certainly  it  had  seemed,  for  a  few  minutes, 


INTO  THE  PRIMITIVE  177 

beginning  when  Joe  reverently  had  told  her  that  he 
thought  she  was  the  most  wonderful  person  in  the 
world  and  had  taken  her  hand,  that  Bill  got  rather 
out  of  focus.  Externally  her  conduct  had  been  cor- 
rect enough,  she  felt,  even  in  the  matter  of  that  first 
kiss  which  had  not  come  off.  But  the  thing  that 
shocked  her  was  a  realization  that  for  a  horrible 
second  or  two  the  sight  of  Bill  halfway  through  the 
hatch  staring  at  her,  had  struck  her  as  at  once  annoy- 
ing and  ridiculous.  For  just  that  blighting  moment 
of  time  she  had — well — pretty  near  hated  him.  She 
had  made  handsome  amends  of  course.  She  had 
given  him  a  magnificent  revenge  over  his  rival.  But 
would  a  real  heroine,  would  Leda  Swan  for  instance, 
in  any  part  she  had  ever  played,  have  been  capable  of 
even  so  ephemeral  a  disloyalty?  It  was  unthinkable. 
It  was  all  very  miserable  and  maddening  not 
least  because  there  wasn't  anyone  who  could  be  at  all 
wholeheartedly  blamed  for  it.  Joe  wasn't  a  villain. 
Certainly  he'd  had  the  misfortune  to  fall  in  love  with 
her  and  had  been  unable  to  conceal  the  fact;  per- 
fectly orthodox  conduct,  as  was  also  his  platonic 
project  for  shielding  her  from  the  possibly  embar- 
rassing results  of  her  escapade  with  Bill.  As  for 
Bill,  his  conduct  too  conformed  to  the  highest  stand- 


178  REAL  LIFE 

ards.  In  two  out  of  five  of  the  serious  pictures  one 
saw  didn't  the  whole  plot  hang  upon  the  fact  that  a 
husband  happened  to  see  his  wife  getting  innocently 
kissed — perhaps  merely  by  a  long-absent  brother? 
One  always  drew,  didn't  he,  the  most  sinister  infer- 
ences from  an  episode  like  that  ?  Didn't  it  as  a  rule 
cost  the  wife  about  three  reels  of  abject  humiliation 
and  apology  to  get  such  a  thing  explained  ? 

There  couldn't  be  any  doubt  about  what  Joe  was 
thinking  of  her.  She  had,  very  likely,  with  that 
Delilah  kiss  of  hers,  destroyed  his  faith  in  all 
womanhood. 

Oh,  well,  what  did  she  care!  It  was  his  own 
fault  jwst  as  it  was  Bill's.  They  could  both  think 
whatever  they  pleased.  She  dug  her  oars  viciously 
into  the  water  and  put  her  back  into  the  quickened 
stroke,  and  by  the  time  the  boat,  ramming  its  bow 
into  the  sharply  shelving  beach,  stopped  with  a  jerk 
she  had  pretty  well  worked  the  bitterness  out  of  her 
heart.  Nevertheless  she  sprang  out  without  a  word, 
tugged  the  dinghy  a  little  farther  up  the  sand,  and 
without  a  glance  in  Bill's  direction  turned  on  her 
heel  and  walked  away  along  the  beach.  Bill  could 
come  along  or  not  just  as  he  liked. 

She  expected  before  she  had  gone  a  dozen  paces 


INTO  THE  PRIMITIVE  179 

to  hear  either  his  cry  "Princess !"  or  the  padding  of 
his  feet  along  the  sands  come  appeahngly  after  her, 
and  she  knew  that  at  either  of  these  cues  she  would 
instantly  relent.  It  was  profoundly  disconcerting  to 
hear  nothing  at  all.  But  until  she  got  some  sort  of 
sign  from  him  how  could  she  stop  and  turn  without 
forfeiting  the  only  thing  she  had  left  to  hold  her 
own  with — her  air  of  injured  innocence?  Inflexi- 
bly she  plodded  on  along  the  beach,  and  she  couldn't 
have  kept  eyes  front  with  greater  care  if  she  had 
feared,  as  the  penalty  of  a  glance  over  her  shoulder, 
the  fate  of  the  refugee  from  Sodom. 

As  she  trudged  on,  sometimes  over  springy,  hard- 
packed  sand  but  much  of  the  time  across  great  tracts 
of  gravel,  which  slipped  under  her  feet  and  spilled 
into  her  flapping  tennis-shoes,  a  forlorn  and  alto- 
gether appalling  loneliness  invaded  her  spirit.  She 
had  played  the  shipwrecked  heroine  on  the  unin- 
habited island  in  many  a  picture,  but  never  in  her 
life  had  she  been  in  a  place  like  this — which  carried 
somehow,  just  in  the  look  and  atmosphere  of  it,  the 
conviction  that  nobody  lived  here  or  ever  had  or 
ever  would.  She  could  see  the  beach  for  miles 
ahead,  an  endless,  irregularly  wide  brown  ribbon 
between  the  gleaming  amethyst  lake  stretching  out 


i8o  REAL  LIFE 

to  a  horizon  at  her  right  and  the  lowering,  ragged, 
scrub-covered  sandhills  at  her  left,  thrusting  out 
their  shoulders  like  bastions  for  terrors  to  hide 
behind. 

The  persistent  angle  of  this  coastline  is  such  that 
at  that  hour  of  the  morning  no  ray  of  the  rising  sun 
fell  upon  it  at  all.  The  lake  side  of  the  hills  and  the 
whole  width  of  beach  lay  in  unbroken  shade.  The 
exertion  of  struggling  on  over  these  gravel-beds 
kept  her  fairly  warm,  but  when  she  got  too  tired  to 
struggle  any  farther,  and  that  point,  it  seemed,  was 
not  far  away,  what  was  to  prevent  the  chill  from 
stealing  into  her  very  bones?  She  had  made  a  fire 
once  in  a  picture  by  rubbing  two  sticks  together. 
There  were  plenty  of  sticks  lying  about  a  little 
higher  up  the  beach,  but  this  time  there  was  no  tech- 
nical director  to  prepare  them  with  an  electrical  con- 
nection and  what  not,  and  she  felt  perfectly  sure  that 
in  default  of  this  special  preparation  the  trick 
wouldn't  work. 

She  was  bitterly  hungry  too,  yet  she  couldn't 
pump  up  any  sort  of  hope  of  coming  upon  a  bread- 
fruit or  banana  tree,  or  of  finding  a  shard  of  dry 
bone  and  spearing  a  fish  with  it.    The  technical  di- 


INTO  THE  PRIMITIVE  i8i 

rector  had  too  much  to  do  with  these  windfalls  of 
good  fortune  also. 

In  this  horrible  abandoned  place,  along  this  run- 
way of  despair  where  she  might  walk,  it  seemed,  for 
days  and  days,  if  you  got  cold  enough  you  froze ;  if 
you  got  hungry  enough  you  starved — there  would 
be  no  interposition  to  the  contrary. 

Bill,  following  behind  her — somehow  she  knew 
that  was  what  he  was  doing,  though  she  hadn't 
looked  around  nor  heard  a  sound  of  him — Bill  was 
perhaps  more  nearly  starved  and  frozen  than  she 
was.  She  slackened  her  pace  a  little  under  the  im- 
pact of  the  idea  that  perhaps  the  reason  why  he 
hadn't  overtaken  her  long  ago  was  because  he 
couldn't.  This  accomplished  nothing,  however,  and 
to  stop  and  wait  for  him  was  the  thing  she  would  not 
do.  But  if  she  turned  off  and  explored  the  dunes  a 
bit 

That  mightn't  be  a  bad  thing  to  do,  even  apart 
from  the  chance  it  would  give  Bill  to  come  up  with 
her.  Behind  this  desert  barrier  of  sandhills  one 
might  find  human  life,  civilized  society;  food, 
warmth,  shelter,  even  respectable  clothes  might  be 
purchasable  commodities.  A  little  ahead  to  the  left 
was  what  looked  like  a  cleft  in  the  sandhills.    She'd 


iS2  REAL  LIFE 

turn  in  there  when  she  came  to  it  and  explore  about 
a  bit. 

It  didn't  look  so  promising  when  she  came  oppo- 
site it  as  it  had  from  a  little  farther  off.  There  was 
no  clear  pass,  such  as  her  hopes  had  visualized,  into 
an  open  and  inhabited  country — hardly  more  than  a 
deep  dimple  in  the  contour  of  tlie  hills.  But  she 
poked  her  way  into  it  just  the  same,  scrambled  up 
in  the  loose  sand,  getting  a  friendly  handhold  or 
foothold  here  and  there  from  some  stunted  bush, 
until  she  stopped,  peering  into  what  amounted  to  a 
cave. 

It  was  just  a  hole  in  the  sand,  left  by  the  stump 
of  an  uprooted  tree,  but  the  stump  itself  with  a 
mass  of  roots  on  the  end  of  it  formed  a  sort  of  re- 
taining wall  and  had  kept  the  sand  from  shifting 
into  the  hollow.  It  was  filled  with  leaves — so  neatly 
and  competently  filled  that  she  couldn't  believe  that 
the  mere  casual  drift  of  the  wind  had  done  it. 
They  were  nice  dry  leaves,  last  year's  brown  oak 
leaves,  and  they  looked  comfortable  and  domestic, 
like  a  home;  the  lair  of  some  wild  beast,  perhaps — 
except  that  there  weren't  any  bones  and  things  lying 
about. 

Only    what   was    that — that    brown    thing — so 


INTO  THE  PRIMITIVE  183 

nearly  the  color  of  the  leaves  that  she  hadn't  noticed 
it  at  first?  It  looked  exactly  like  a  naked  human 
knee !  The  Princess  held  her  breath  and  blinked  at 
the  apparition  to  make  sure. 

A  knee !  a  man's  knee,  sharply  bent,  was  stickmg 
out  of  the  leaves;  a  corpse,  she  supposed,  of  some- 
one who  had  been  murdered  and  flung  into  this  hole. 
That's  why  the  leaves  had  been  heaped  in  so  care- 
fully. She  backed  sharply  away,  up  to  the  lip  of  the 
hollow — backed  because  she  hadn't  resolution 
enough  to  turn  her  eyes  away  from  the  grisly  spec- 
tacle until  she  got  to  where  one  leap  would  carry  her 
clean  down  the  bank  and  away.  The  sand  dislodged 
by  her  feet  as  she  scrambled  went  pattering  down 
upon  the  leaves  and  made  a  noise  like  rain. 

As  if  in  response  to  this  sound  the  knee,  to  the 
Princess's  horror,  moved,  stretched  itself  galvanic- 
ally,  and  a  long  hairy  shin  and  a  big  flat  foot  with  a 
pink  sole  thrust  itself  up  almost,  it  seemed,  into  her 
face. 

She  screamed,  but  for  a  moment  stood  where  she 
was,  paralyzed.  There  was  a  flurry  among  the 
leaves  at  this,  and  a  head  fantastically  ornamented 
with  wisps  of  black  lank  hair  and  wildly  disheveled 
whiskers  heaved  itself  up  inquiringly  upon  the  ped- 


i84  REAL  LIFE 

estal  of  a  long  stringy  neck  and  a  pair  of  naked 
brown  shoulders. 

She  screamed  once  more,  whirled,  gained  the  lip 
of  the  hollow  with  one  convulsive  spring  and  saw — 
oh,  blessed  sight! — Bill  charging  up  the  sloping 
sands  to  the  rescue.  She  went  slithering  down  into 
his  arms,  gasping  and  for  the  moment  completely 
inarticulate  with  panic. 

But  even  during  that  moment  while  she  clung  to 
him  speechless,  supported  by  the  surprisingly  mus- 
cular grip  of  his  left  arm,  she  experienced  a  glow 
of  comfort  in  the  realization  that  Bill  on  hearing  her 
scream  had  not  run  away — had,  on  the  contrary,  like 
a  real  hero,  come  rushing  to  the  rescue. 

He  was  standing  his  ground  now,  while  he  plied 
her  with  questions  as  to  the  cause  of  her  terror,  with 
a  staunchness  that  would  have  done  credit  to  Wal- 
lace Reid. 

"It's — it's  a  wild  man,"  she  panted,  "with — 
without  any  clothes  on !  He  was  all  covered  up  with 
leaves !  I  saw  just  his  leg  at  first,  and  I  thought  he 
was  dead !  When  he  stuck  his  head  up  I  screamed ! 
He  must  be  crazy,  I  guess !" 

"Crazy?"  Bill  echoed,  inquiringly,  tapping  his 
forehead,  and  she  nodded  assent. 


"Look,"  she  gasped;  "he's  coming!" 


See  page  i86 


"You  love  it  then?"  Bill  asked 


Set  pagt  2x6 


INTO  THE  PRIMITIVE  185 

"I'm  all  right,"  she  said,  letting  go  the  hold  she 
had  till  now  convulsively  maintained  upon  him.  "I 
guess  we'd  better  beat  it.  Only  I  don't  believe  I 
can  run  very  well.    I'm  still  kind  of — wobbly." 

"It  -s  better  not  to  run,"  Bill  decided.  "Perhaps 
he  watches  us  now  through  the  bushes.  They  are 
like  wild  beasts,  these  mad  people.  To  show  fear 
with  them,  that  is  the  great  mistake.  It  excite  them. 
They  come  and  leap  upon  your  back." 

The  Princess  shuddered,  but  Bill,  having  hooked 
his  arm  through  hers,  led  her  away  at  a  steady 
walk  down  tiie  beach  toward  the  hard  sand  at  the 
water's  edge. 

"You're  a  lot  braver  than  I  am.  Bill,"  she  con- 
fessed. "I  couldn't  do  this  if  you  weren't  hanging 
on  to  me."  She  stole  a  glance  over  her  shoulder. 
**Don't  you  think  we  might  run  now  ?"  she  asked. 

But  he,  despite  her  tugging,  maintained  his 
steady  pace.  "Do  not  look  back,"  he  instructed  her. 
"He  does  not  mean  to  attack  us  or  he  would  have 
sprung  out  before  this.  But  he  is  watching,  and  if 
he  see  us  look . . . . " 

Obediently  the  Princess  trudged  an  another 
dozen  paces  or  so.     "You  don't  know  what  a  per- 


i86  REAL  LIFE 

fectly  horrible  sight  he  was,"  she  said.  Irresistibly 
she  turned  her  head  once  more,  faltered,  wen:  limp 
and  clung  to  his  arms.  "Look,"  she  gasped;  "he's 
coming!" 


CHAPTER  XIII 


THE  DUNE-BUG 


SHE  felt  a  sudden  rigidity  possess  Bill's  frame  as 
he  turned  and  saw  the  apparition  which  was 
coming  toward  them  at  a  gentle  lope  across  the  sand. 
"It  is  no  use  to  run,"  she  heard  him  murmur.  "We 
should  not  escape  those  long  legs  so.  Do  not  be 
afraid.  I  will  talk  with  him.  Do  not  cry  out  and  do 
not  run  away  unless  I  tell  you.  Maybe  he  is  not 
fierce  at  all," 

And,  indeed,  as  he  came  galloping  nearer  it 
seemed  more  and  more  probable  that  what  his  wav- 
ing arms  were  trying  in  pantomime  to  convey  was 
reassurance  and  welcome. 

There  never,  the  Princess  would  have  taken 
oath,  had  been  a  weirder  object  in  the  world.  His 
delay  in  following  them  was  now  explained:  He 
had  stopped  to  dress.  He  had  put  on,  that  is  to  say, 
a  hat — a  quite  decent  panama — and  a  pair  of  shell- 
rimmed  spectacles.    He  had  combed  down  his  wild 

187 


Il88  REAL  LIFE 

whiskers  into  a  reasonably  demure  Van  Dyck 
beard.  The  rest  o£  his  costume  was  simply  a  breech- 
clout.  His  skin  all  over  was  the  exact  shade  of  the 
oak  leaves  he  had  been  buried  in,  an  interesting  ex- 
ample, had  the  Princess  possessed  the  phrase,  of 
protective  coloration. 

What  made  the  whole  thing  simply  fantastic  was 
the  expression  this  only  inhabitant  or  sole  survivor 
or  whatever  he  was  wore  as  he  came  panting  to  a 
stop  a  pace  or  two  away  from  where  they  stood — 
the  expression  he  wore  and  the  tone  in  which,  a  mo- 
ment later,  he  spoke. 

"I  deeply  regret  that  my  appearance  should  have 
alarmed  the  young  lady."  He  took  off  his  hat  with 
a  bit  of  a  flourish  toward  the  Princess,  but  his  words 
were  addressed  to  Bill,  who  had  come  a  stride  or 
two  to  meet  him.  "I  am  aware  that  it  is  unusual, 
causing  mirth  when  it  does  not  arouse  terror.  I 
frequently  hear  myself  referred  to  as  a  dune-bug. 
My  only  purpose  in  pursuing  you,"  he  went  on,  "was 
to  assure  you  that  you  have  nothing  to  fear  from  me. 
There  is,  I  feel  confident,  no  more  hannless  person 
in  the  world.  I  prey  upon  none  of  my  fellow-crea- 
tures— not  even  the  humblest  of  them." 

"It  is  we  who  have  trespass,"  Bill  said  with  a 


THE  DUNE-BUG  189 

ceremonious  bow.  "We  are  strangers  here  and  do 
not  know.    We  beg  you  will  excuse." 

"Oh,  please!"  cried  the  wild  man  in  a  tone  of 
bright  distress.  "This  is  my  home,  indeed,  but  I  do 
not  attempt  to  hold  it  in  adverse  possession,  as  the 
legality-mongers  would  say.  The  sand,  the  sky,  the 
horizon  yonder — they  cannot  be  appropriated. 
They  belong  to  you  as  well  as  to  me." 

His  agonized  expression,  the  Princess  noted,  was 
partly  due  to  the  rigor  with  which  he  kept  his  teeth 
clenched  while  he  talked  and  smiled.  He  was  shud- 
dering with  cold,  just  as  she  and  Bill  were. 

"Can  you  start  a  fire  by  rubbing  two  sticks  to- 
gether?" she  asked.  "There's  plenty  of  wood  lying 
around,  if  anyone  could  do  that."  She  felt  it  would 
be  indelicate — considering  his  costume — to  suggest 
the  possibility  that  he  might  have  matches. 

He  looked  acutely  embarrassed.  "I  have  not  yet 
learned  the  knack  of  it,"  he  confessed,  "though  I 
have  tried  all  the  standard  methods,  including  the 
bowstring.  It  is  more  difficult  than  I  had  been  led 
to  suppose." 

"I  believe  you,"  said  the  Princess.  "But  you  see, 
we're  so  cold  and  so  hungry  that  I  thought  I'd  take 
a  chance  and  ask.    It's  all  right." 


190  REAL  LIFE 

"I  can  make  a  fire,  nevertheless,"  the  wild  man 
admitted,  with  the  air  of  giving  himself  away. 
"Matches  are  among  the  banes  of  the  civilization  I 
have  discarded — yet  one  cannot  emancipate  oneself 
from  everything  at  once.  I  have  still  a  small  store 
of  them,  and  I  will  use  one  without  my  usual  prelim- 
inary attempt  to  do  without.  — Also,"  he  con- 
cluded, "I  have  food,  to  which  you  are  welcome, 
though  if  you  are  flesh-eaters  the  nature  of  it  will 
disappoint  you." 

"I'm  hungry  enough,"  the  Princess  observed, 
noncommittally,  "to  gnaw  the  bark  off  a  tree." 

"I  have  attempted,"  said  their  host,  as  he  led 
them  back  in  the  direction  of  his  cave,  "to  habituate 
myself  to  a  diet  of  acorns,  of  which  the  oaks  here- 
about offer  an  abundant  supply,  but  my  results  so 
far  have  not  been  encouraging.  If  I  eat  them  in  suf- 
ficient quantities  to  sustain  life  they  make  me  vio- 
lently ill.  I  am  taking  now  an  increasing  number 
with  each  meal,  but  I  am  obliged  to  subsist  in  part 
upon  food  which  has  been  defiled  by  coming  to  me 
through  the  sordid  channels  of  commerce." 

This,  though  the  Princess  wasn't  sure  she  knew 
precisely  what  it  meant,  sounded  hopeful.  She 
glanced  across  at  Bill  to  see  if  it  didn't  strike  him  the 


THE  DUNE-BUG  1911 

same  way.  It  was  a  warm  little  look  with  a  touch  of 
a  smile  about  it,  and  it  stopped  Bill  in  his  tracks. 
The  dune-bug  marched  on,  his  head  in  the  air,  and 
behind  his  back  two  hands  that  were  not  a  pair 
clasped  and  were  respectively  kissed.  This  was  not, 
she  reflected,  the  way  reconciliations  occurred  in  the 
pictures.  There  you  always  explained  something, 
producing  documents  of  one  sort  or  another  in  sup- 
port; or  else  you  pleaded;  or  else  you  touched  a 
chord  that  vibrated  through  his  better  nature — re- 
minded him  how  his  mother  on  her  death-bed  had 
made  him  swear  never  to  treat  a  woman  as  unkindly 
as  his  father  had  treated  her.  This  didn't  slip  into 
any  of  the  categories.  She  wasn't  sure  whether  she 
had  forgiven  Bill  or  he  her.  It  was  all  right,  any- 
how. This  furtive  handclasp,  ready  to  spring  asun- 
der should  the  dune-bug  take  it  into  his  head  to  turn 
around,  was  more  eloquent  and  explicit  than  any 
subtitle.  With  this  understanding,  and  with  fire 
and  food  in  prospect,  the  world  became  a  brighter 
place. 

"Here  we  are,"  said  their  host,  turning  to  them 
with  a  bow  of  welcome  and  taking  off  his  hat.  It 
was  a  small  circular  clearing  in  the  thicket,  the  other 
side  of  the  tree  from  the  hole  where  the  Princess  had 


,192  REAL  LIFE 

found  him  asleep.  The  tree  was  itself  an  important 
part  of  the  establishment,  since  it  served  as  a  frame 
for  the  sheets  of  matting  which  made  the  walls  or 
awnings,  whichever  you  wished  to  call  them.  In  the 
way  of  furniture  and  living-utensils  there  appeared 
to  be  nothing  beyond  a  biscuit-tin,  a  pail  smoky  from 
having  hung  over  a  fire,  a  basket  and  a  small  stone 
jug.  There  might  be  other  treasures  stored  away  in 
the  hollow  stump  opposite  the  entrance  to  the 
thicket. 

"Beautifully  simple,  is  it  not?"  he  went  on. 
"Nothing  in  excess,  all  natural  wants  supplied ;  sun- 
light, pure  air,  water — I  boil  it  to  avoid  infection  and 
keep  it  in  that  jug — food"  (he  nodded  toward  the 
biscuit-tin)  "and — greatest  boon  of  all,  solitude." 

"Shan't  we  help  you  build  the  fire?"  suggested 
the  Princess,  and,  the  dune-bug  agreeing  brightly  to 
this,  she  and  Bill  went  scouting  about  for  sticks. 
Their  host  scouted  too,  but  he  had  so  much  to  say 
about  the  craft  of  fire-building  and  found  it  so  nec- 
essary to  make  gestures  that  he  didn't  add  much  to 
the  woodpile.  The  presence  of  a  gallery  may  have 
put  him  off  his  form,  but  certainly  he  conveyed  to 
the  Princess  the  impression  that  he  hadn't  always 
been  the  child  of  nature  he  so  passionately  pro- 


THE  DUNE-BUG  193 

claimed  himself.  He  took  eight  matches  getting 
their  little  blaze  started,  and  they  had  a  bad  quarter 
of  an  hour  after  that  before  they  could  be  sure  that 
it  was  going  to  bum  in  earnest.  At  last,  though,  the 
dune-bug  straightened  up  with  a  look  of  intense  re- 
lief; one  could  forget  intervening  disappointments 
when  the  final  result  was  as  satisfactory  as  this. 

"There  we  are !"  he  said.    "Now  for  breakfast" 

He  opened  the  biscuit-tin  with  the  air,  a  little,  of 
a  prestidigitator  about  to  do  a  trick,  and  took  out 
two  paper  bags  and  a  pasteboard  carton.  One  of  the 
bags  contained  nuts — pecans  and  almonds  mixed — 
the  other  prunes.  The  carton  contained  a  highly 
special  sort  of  bran  biscuit,  guaranteed  upon  the 
label  to  produce  the  most  intensely  hygienic  result 

"I  have  found,"  said  their  host,  as  he  assembled 
two  stones  and  began  cracking  the  nuts  and  handing 
them  around,  "that  seven  of  these  nuts,  three  prunes 
and  two  of  the  biscuits  make  a  normal  ration  for  one 
meal." 

Accordingly,  when  he  had  cracked  twenty-one 
nuts  and  divided  them  with  mathematical  impartial- 
ity, he  replaced  the  bag  in  the  biscuit-tin  and  dealt 
around  two  apiece  of  the  bran  biscuits,  upon  the  top 
of  each  pair — they  were  as  hard  as  little  china  sau- 


194  REAL  LIFE 

cers — balancing  three  prunes.  This  done,  with  an 
air  of  mild  finality  he  closed  the  larder. 

"The  Hindus,"  he  observed,  "are  much  more 
highly  civilized  people  than  ourselves  and  their 
etiquette  I  prefer  to  follow.  Eating,  as  no  doubt 
you  know,  is  not  with  them  a  social  function.  It  is 
not,  then,  discourtesy  which  leads  me  to  withdraw  a 
little  and  turn  my  back  until  the  meal  is  concluded." 

The  Princess  read  in  Bill's  eyes  the  same  lawless 
hope  that  was  in  her  own  mind :  If  only  he  would 
withdraw  far  enough  and  turn  his  back  completely 
enough  to  make  practicable  a  further  raid  upon  his 
stores !  But  he  didn't ;  he  squatted  with  his  back  to 
the  fire,  his  face  to  the  biscuit-tin.  No  hope! 
Would  it  be  possible,  the  Princess  wondered,  with 
one  of  those  stones  he'd  been  cracking  nuts  with  to 
tap  him  just  hard  enough  on  the  head  to  render  him 
unconscious  without  killing  him?  She  could  under- 
stand the  criminal  mind,  at  any  ratel  She  even 
relaxed  her  views  a  little  on  the  subject  of  cannibal- 
ism. People  could  get  hungry  enough,  she 
supposed .... 

What  made  it  worse  was  that  the  dune-bug  went 
on  methodically  chumping  his  provender  long  after 
they  had  finished  theirs.     He  was  probably  keeping 


THE  DUNE-BUG  195 

count  of  the  number  of  chews  he  took  to  each  mouth- 
ful. He  finished  at  last,  and  turning  to  them 
greeted  them  with  a  pleasant  smile,  as  if  he  were 
just  back  from  a  journey. 

"It  is  time,"  he  said,  "that  I  went  about  my  daily 
task." 

This  was,  he  proceeded  to  explain,  the  collection 
of  greens,  the  absence  of  which  at  breakfast  they  had 
no  doubt  noted.  It  was  the  dandelion  season  and  he 
knew  a  field  where  they  grew  abundantly.  It  was, 
regrettably,  too  near  an  inhabited  house  to  make  it 
possible  for  him  to  go  collecting  except  at  night  or 
in  the  very  early  morning.  There  was  still  time,  he 
thought,  providing  he  wasted  none,  to  fill  his  basket. 

He  was  complete  enough,  you'd  have  said,  as  he 
stood  there,  his  arm  crooked  like  a  housewife's,  the 
market  basket  depending  from  it.  But  he  gave  him- 
self, before  he  departed,  one  fantastic  finishing 
touch.  Out  of  the  hollow  of  the  tree  he  took  a  flage- 
olet with  a  loop  of  cord  tied  about  the  middle  of  it. 
The  loop  he  put  over  his  head  and  as  he  walked 
away,  very  erect,  his  long  thin  legs  stepping  rather 
high,  he  accompanied  himself  down  the  beach  with 
the  cello  theme  from  the  first  movement  of  Schu- 
bert's B  minor  symphony. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


REVELATION 


THE  TWO  beside  the  fire  sat  gazing  after  him 
speechless  until  a  projecting  shoulder  of  the  hill 
cut  him  off  from  sight  and  hearing  as  well.  Then 
the  Princess  rubbed  her  eyes. 

"Bill,"  she  asked,  "do  you  suppose  he  is  true,  or 
did  we  dream  him  ?  What  I  don't  see,"  she  went  on, 
"is  why  I  don't  laugh  myself  into  stitches  about  him! 
Maybe  it's  because  I'm  so  hungry.  I  suppose  it's 
stealing,  but  we'll  have  to  have  some  more  of  those 
nuts!" 

He  made,  but  only  half-heartedly,  a  gesture  of 
protest  which  the  Princess  ignored.  She  opened  the 
tin  and  placed  it  where  both  could  reach.  "Just  a 
few,"  she  urged,  taking  out  a  handful.  Then  she 
reverted  to  the  former  topic. 

"I  suppose  one  reason  was  because  you  didn't 
laugh.    Why  didn't  you?" 

196 


REVELATION  197 

"He  is  not  funny,"  said  Bill.  "I  could  weep  at 
him,  and  I  could  envy  him;  but  laugh  at  him,  no — 
never.  — Do  not  risk  your  fingers  between  those 
horrible  stones.  Leave  the  nut-cracking  to  me.  See, 
I  do  like  this." 

Without  any  appearance  of  effort  he  cracked  one 
of  the  pecans  between  the  thumb  and  finger  of  his 
left  hand.  The  Princess  stared.  "How  could  you 
do  that  ?"  she  demanded.  "It  takes  a  terrible  lot  of 
strength  to  do  that.    I  thought " 

"My  hands  are  very  strong,"  he  told  her  cas- 
ually. "It  is  all  in  the  training.  I  have  been  train 
since  a  little  boy."  Then,  quite  definitely,  she 
thought,  forestalling  the  next  question  she  meant  to 
ask,  he  went  back  to  the  dune-bug.  "You  felt  as  I 
did,"  he  said.  "Your  eyes  did  not  invite  me  to 
laugh.    I  loved  it  that  they  did  not." 

"Well,  I  don't  see  why,"  she  persisted.  "In  the 
movies  he'd  be  a  scream.  Yet  he  is  kind  of  pathetic. 
I  pretty  near  cried  myself  when  those  matches  kept 
going  out.  But  what  do  you  mean,  you  could  envy 
him  ?    He's  crazy,  isn't  he  ?" 

"Oh,  perhaps,"  said  Bill.  "One  must  be  a  little 
mad,  I  suppose,  to  wish  his  freedom  so  much  that  he 
will  pay  for  it.    But  cannot  you  understand?    I  am 


198  REAL  LIFE 

sure  you  can.  He  does  not  like  the  hustle  and  the 
screech  of  your  big  city.  — Look!  You  can  see 
from  here !  Already  the  smoke  in  the  comer  of  the 
sky.  He  tell  it,  'Go  to  the  devil!'  He  lie  here  in 
the  sand  and  smile  at  it.  He  like  the  feel  of  the  sun 
and  the  wind  and  the  rain  on  his  bare  skin  and  he 
snap  his  fingers  at  the  foolish  ones  who  say  he  must 
wear  clothes  because  they  do.  They  laugh  at  him ; 
he  does  not  care,  because  to  him  they  are  all  mad. 
He  have  it  all  big  and  still.  And  he  play  Schubert 
on  the  flageolet." 

He  himself  began  humming  the  dune-bug's  tune 
as  he  munched  his  nuts,  and  presently  the  Princess 
became  aware  that  he  had  drifted  away  out  of  her 
world  altogether,  an  effect  not  contradicted  by  his 
reaching  out  with  his  right  hand  for  her  left  one  and 
taking  permanent  possession  of  it,  nor  by  the  fact 
that  he  went  straight  on  cracking  nuts  between  his 
thumb  and  finger  and  putting  their  kernels,  more  or 
less  alternately,  into  his  mouth  and  into  hers. 

She  drifted  off  lazily  upon  a  train  of  reflection 
of  her  own.  Was  that  smudge  of  smoke  over  there 
really  Chicago ?  Could  it  be  as  near  as  that?  What 
were  they  thinking  there  of  her  disappearance — Miss 
Smith  and  the  rest  of  them?    She  couldn't  feel  that 


REVELATION  199 

it  mattered  very  much.  They'd  keep  it  quiet,  she 
surmised,  they  were  all  so  deathly  afraid  of  Ma. 
Walter  Patrick,  who  was  to  have  joined  their  party 
last  night,  would  have  told  them  what  to  do.  And 
today,  sometime,  as  soon  as  she  could  get  to  a  tele- 
phone, she  would  let  them  know  that  she  was  all 
right. 

Walter  Patrick  stuck  in  her  mind.  She  felt,  sud- 
denly, that  she  understood  him.  The  dune-bug — or 
Bill's  interpretation  of  him — had  given  her  the  clue. 
The  next  time  Patrick  looked  at  her  with  that  enig- 
matic smile  of  his  she'd  be  able  to  smile  back  with 
complete  understanding.  They  ought  to  be  good 
friends  after  this;  allies,  of  sorts,  against — well, 
even  in  some  circumstances  against  Ma  herself!  It 
gave  her  a  rather — disembodied  feeling,  to  find  her- 
self thinking  such  thoughts  as  these. 

Yet  the  really  disembodied  one  seemed  to  be 
Leda  Swan — ^who  was  so  always  on  exhibition,  with 
whom  all  the  world  was  so  idiotically  infatuated, 
whose  faked  biography  it  lapped  up  weekly  in  the 
column,  whose  forged  autographs,  by  thousands,  it 
cherished  so  carefully.  To  the  Princess,  sitting 
■»-~-o  A^v-^n  the  sand  in  half  a  doze,  it  seemed  that  she 


200  REAL  LIFE 

shared  with  the  dune-bug  a  joke  upon  all  the  rest  of 
the  world. 

The  sun  got  his  head  up  above  the  shoulder  of 
the  hills  and  shone  down  warmly  upon  their  backs. 
The  nuts  they  had  been  munching  at  so  long  gave 
them,  at  last,  a  feeling  of  satiety.  Bill  stretched  out 
at  full  length,  rolled  over  and  put  his  head  down  in 
the  Princess's  lap. 

She  was  a  little  startled  at  this,  but  the  morn- 
ing's mood  prevailed,  to  the  extent,  at  least,  of  her 
not  moving  away  nor  telling  him  to  get  up.  What 
troubled  her  was  the  intensity  of  her  impulse  to 
cradle  him  up  tight  in  her  arms,  and  the  insidious 
voice  that  kept  whispering,  What  would  it  matter 
if  she  did  ?  It  was  an  empty  world,  wasn't  it,  with 
no  notice-boards  saying  that  they  weren't  allowed 
in  the  shrubbery,  no  uncle  to  be  afraid  of,  no  per- 
nickety yachtsman  with  his  talk  about  probation  offi- 
cers and  chiefs  of  police,  no  Miss  Smith  to  tell  her 
what  young  ladies  did  or  didn't  do;  no  Ma — that 
summed  it  up  :  nobody  at  all  but  herself  and  Bill  and 
the  funny,  nutty  old  dune-bug  who  wouldn't  care 
what  they  did.  There  were  no  rules,  here  on  the 
sands,  except  what  they  made  for  themselves.  She 
leaned  back  upon  her  hands  to  hold  tb***"  "^^^^^    ^^® 


REVELATION  201 

began  drawing,  one  after  another,  long  deep 
breaths.  They  must  be  starting  on  soon  to  look  for 
a  telephone. 

Suddenly  Bill  sat  erect,  stared  out  blankly  over 
the  lake  for  a  minute  or  two,  then  turned  and  sought 
her  eyes. 

"Princess,"  he  said  in  a  tone  she  hadn't  heard 
him  use  before,  a  tone  that  went  through  her  some- 
how, and  frightened  her,  "can  we  not  go  mad  a  lit- 
tle, too?  Mad  enough  to  be  free — like  this?  We 
need  not  sleep  in  holes  under  the  leaves,  nor  eat 
acorns.  But  a  little  house  we  could  build,  and  play 
all  day  long  in  the  sand  and  the  water,  and  I  shall 
play  you  tunes  from  Schubert — ^but  better  than  the 
bug.  And  we  shall  tell  my  uncle,  and  all  the  rest  of 
them  if  they  come,  to  go  to  hell  away  from  here! 

She  shook  her  head  sharply,  like  ^"c  trying  to 
waken  herself  out  of  a  dream.  "^  ^vouW  "^ke  a 
wonderful  pretend.  Bill,"  she  ^aid,  "but  of  course 
we  couldn't  do  it  realb'-'' 

"There  ^^  nothing  to  pretend  about !"  he  asserted, 
angrjlr-     *'V\^hy  cannot  we  do  it?" 

"Well,  for  one  thing,"  she  said,  "I've  got  to  go 
fo  work  Wednesday  morning,  on  the  lot  out  at 
Hollywood. — On  a  picture,"  she  added. 


202  REAL  LIFE 

"You — you  paint  pictures,  then?"  he  asked. 

She  stared  at  him.  "I  told  you  who  I  was  yes- 
terday.    I'm  Leda  Swan.     Motion  pictures,  silly! 

I  thought  everybody  in  the  world Bill,  is  it  true, 

not  kidding  at  all,  that  you  never  even  heard  of  me  ? 
Where  have  you  been?" 

"In  America  since  the  war  break  out.  Before 
that,  all  over  the  world.  But  my  uncle,  he  never  let 
me  go  to  the  cinemas,  for  fear  I  catch  something." 

From  a  feeling  of  acute  annoyance  her  emotion 
changed  suddenly  to  pity.  "You  poor  kid!"  she 
said.  "Your  uncle  must  be  a  peach,  all  right! 
Well,  I've  been  a — star  in  the  pictures  since  I  was 
five  years  old ;  ever  since  I  can  remember,  anyhow. 
I've  played  everything  from  a  two-year-old  baby  in 
a  cnb  to  the  Queen  of  Babylon.  I've  got  my  own 
company  nuw  and  I  make  so  much  money  I  couldn't 
count  it.— Not,"  she  found  herself  adding,  "that 
they'd  ever  give  me  a  .Jiance  to  try !" 

"It  is  what  I  have  thougv^i-r'  gjjj  cried.  "I 
think  it  while  I  watch  your  face.  \ou  have  been 
in  the  treadmill  too!  All  your  life  since  jou  can 
remember  you  have  work  for  people,  to  make  th«.evi 
rich,  big,  important ;  just  as  I  have  work  all  my  liic 
for  my  uncle !" 


REVELATION  203 

"Work!"  the  Princess  cried,  turning  an  incred- 
ulous gaze  upon  him. 

It  was  distinctly  a  shock.  She  had  not  perhaps 
taken  her  hypothesis  about  the  Prince  of  Zenda  with 
complete  seriousness,  but  it  had  been  a  rosy  day- 
dream of  hers  for  so  many  hours  now  that  the 
dissipation  of  it  with  that  harsh  word  "work"  cost 
her  a  pang. 

She  asked  rather  faintly,  "What  do  you  do  ?" 

"I  play  the  fiddle,"  he  told  her.  "Ever  since  I 
can  remember  I  have  play  the  fiddle.  I  practice  all 
the  time,  all  the  morning,  all  the  afternoon.  I  am 
a  wonder-child  giving  concerts  at  six  years  old.  But 
a  real  child  playing  games,  having  fun,  I  am  never 
that  at  all.  I  see  them  play.  I  do  not  know  how." 
The  eyes  of  the  Princess  filled  with  tears.  "CXi, 
you  poor  kid !"  she  cried  once  more,  and,  picking  up 
one  of  his  hands,  cuddled  her  cheek  against  it.  But 
in  a  moment  she  brightened  up  at  a  happj'  thought. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,  Bill,"  she  said.  *'If  you  really 
play  the  violin  well — but  of  course  you  can,  having 
practiced  as  much  as  that — w^y,  I  can  get  you  a 
job  out  at  Hollywood,  so  we  can  go  out  there 
together  just  as  we  planned.  I  always  have  two 
musicians  working  for  me,  harp  and  violin  usually. 


204  REAL  LIFE 

I  adore  the  harp,  don't  you?  They  play  favorite 
things  of  mine,  off-stage,  you  know,  during  my 
big  emotional  scenes  so  that  I'll  feel  them  more — 
really  cry,  you  know,  instead  of  having  to  use  glyc- 
erine. They  say  I'm  unusually  susceptible.  When  I 
hear  anything  like  'The  Love  Nest'  or  'Let  the  Rest 
of  the  World  Go  By'  I  simply  melt  away!  Oh,  I 
can't  wait  to  hear  you  play  that — Don't  you  think 
that's  a  good  plan,  Bill?" 

But  it  was  unmistakable,  even  without  waiting 
for  his  answer,  that  Bill  did  not.  He  pulled  his 
hand  away  from  her  with  something  like  a  snatch, 
and  he  looked,  she  observed  with  consternation, 
furious.    What  in  the  world  had  she  done. . . . 

"I  am  an  artist!"  he  said  stiffly.  "I  do  not  play 
m-asic-hall  slush  to  a  harp  accompaniment  like  a 
street  gypsy!"  As  suddenly  the  cloud  lifted. 
— "Forgive!  I  forget  you  do  not  know!  I  have 
not  tell  you  my  name.    I  am  Boris  Lazaref." 

It  was  a  painful  moment.  The  name  had  a  faint 
ring  of  familiarity  in  the  Princess's  ear,  but  her  face 
went  perfectly  blank  m  her  frantic  effort  to  find  its 
associations.  She  said,  "Are  you  really?"  but  with 
so  little  conviction  that  it  made  the  insult  all  the 
worse. 


REVELATION  205 

"You  have  not  hear  of  me,"  he  stated  accusingly. 
"I  am  the  greatest  violinist  in  the  world  alive  today. 
It  is  not  a  boast.  It  is  the  simple  truth.  And  you 
have  never  hear  my  name !" 

She  flushed  and  sprang  to  her  feet.  "Well,"  she 
said,  "as  far  as  that  goes,  I'm  the Mary  Pick- 
ford  and  I  are  the  two  biggest  film  stars  alive  in 
the  world  today.  You've  never  heard  of  me  and  I 
suppose  you've  never  heard  of  her,  either.  So,  if 
we  can  stand  it,  I  guess  you'll  have  to !" 

The  sudden  smile  that  beamed  in  his  face  was 
like  the  sun  coming  out.  He  stood  before  her  and 
took  both  her  hands.  "We  quarrel  like  two  chil- 
dren— not  so  ?  And  it  is  all  silliness.  You  will  see 
when  I  tell  you  why  I  ran  away." 

He  made  her  sit  down  again  on  the  sand  beside 
him,  and  began  his  story. 

"My  uncle,  he  go  off  and  leave  me  with  a  man- 
ager. I  think  he  have  already  sail  for  Europe.  I 
say  to  my  manager,  *We  will  cancel  two — three  of 
these  concerts.  I  am  very  tired.  I  wish  rest*  Why 
not?  I  am  have  my  twenty-first  birthday.  I  am  a 
man.  I  know.  He  say  it  is  all  right.  But  I  find 
he  have  telegraph  my  uncle.  Yesterday,  when  I 
have  finish  my  concert,  someone  come  and  tell  my 


2o6  REAL  LIFE 

manager  he  is  wanted ;  on  the  telephone,  I  think,  but 
it  must  have  been  my  uncle  who  wait  outside.  Then 
the  house  manager  come  back  with  the  money.  I 
say,  'Give  to  me.  I  will  write  receipt.'  We  do.  I 
put  the  money  in  my  pocket  and  walk  out  the  door 
between  the  high  buildings.    I  am  running  away. 

"And  do  you  know  what  I  run  away  from? 
From  Boris  Lazaref!  I  say,  'Now  I  will  be  what 
the  lady  in  New  York  call  me.  Bill  Lawrence.'  But 
w^hen  I  come  to  the  street,  already  I  am  lost.  I  do 
not  know  which  way  to  turn.  And  then  the  Prin- 
cess, she  save  my  life." 

His  arm  came  rodnd  her  then  and  she  felt  her- 
self go  limp.  His  voice  had  a  music  in  it,  as  he 
went  on,  that  seemed  to  float  her  away  upon  a  rosy 
cloud.  "We  ride  off  in  a  taxi,  and  then  we  sail  in 
a  boat.  And  I  find  out  that  the  Princess  is  run- 
ning away  too.  She  run  away  from — from  Leda 
Swan  just  as  I  run  away  from  Boris  Lazaref.  Is 
it  not  so?" 

She  nodded  her  head,  then  let  it  go  back  against 
his  shoulder.  "I  didn't  know  it  exactly,  but  I  guess 
it's  so.  I  just  wanted  to  get  away  by  myself  for  a 
little  while  to  find  out  what — what  real  life  was 


REVELATION  207 

like ;  to  see  if  some  of  the  things  wouldn't  happen  to 
me  that  must  happen  to  ordinary  people." 

"So,"  Bill  assented,  "that  is  exact  what  I  say. 
We  take  Leda  Swan  and  Boris  Lazaref  and  we 
squeeze  them  up  together  tight — so — and  blow  them 
away — pouf — and  we  are  left — Bill  and  his  Prin- 
cess, here  in  this  big  openness  where  real  life  can 
commence.  We  will  work  no  more  for  uncles.  We 
will  send  for  Yakov  and  he  shall  bring  my  two 
fiddles.  He  has  always  take  care  of  me — now  he 
will  take  care  of  us  both.  He  will  make  our  fires, 
cook  our  food,  do  all  these  things ;  and  we  shall  do 
whatever  we  please." 

"You  can't  live  anywhere,'*  the  Princess  lazily 
objected,  "without  earning  any  money  at  all !  Even 
the  poor  old  dune-bug  needs  some  to  buy  his  nuts 
with.  And  what  would  we  do  when  it  began  to  get 
cold  and  the  winter  came  ?" 

"We  shall  build  a  little  house  that  shall  keep  out 
the  cold.  And  the  money — that  is  nothing.  We 
have  much.  When  that  is  gone  I  will  send  Yakov  to 
the  city  and  he  shall  arrange  one  concert  and  I  will 
be  Boris  Larazef  again  for  one  afternoon  and  I  will 
bring  back  the  money  and  give  it  to  you  just  as  I 
give  it  this  time." 


2o8  REAL  LIFE 

She  straightened  her  back  and  stared  at  him 
**You  don't  mean,"  she  demanded,  "that  you  got  all 
that  for  playing  one  concert?" 

He  nodded.  **I  have  told  you  I  am  the  greatest 
violinist  in  the  world.  That  is  what  the  man  gave 
me.    I  do  not  know  how  much  it  is." 

"It  is  three  thousand  dollars,"  said  the  Princess. 
"Gee  whiz!  that's  most  as  much  as  I  get  in  a  day 
myself!" 

Bill  pulled  her  back  into  his  arms  again.  There 
was,  she  felt,  a  tinge  of  impatience  about  the  caress. 

"Let  us  not  talk  about  money,"  he  said.  "It  is 
Destiny  that  say  we  shall  do  this.  It  bring  us  here 
together,  to  this  paradise  place,  and  it  say,  'Now  is 
your  chance — now  you  can  begin  to  live.'  " 

"But  we  coukln't  live  together,  Bill!"  she  pro- 
tested. "People  can't  do  that  unless  they're 
married." 

She  said  It  simply  enough,  without  pre-calcula- 
tion,  but  under  the  intensity  of  Bill's  gaze  she  felt 
a  bright  blush  tingling  in  her  face. 

"It  is  easy,  is  it  not,  in  this  country  to  marry? 
There  are  no  hard  formalities.  We  find  the  right 
sort  of  man,  he  read  a  few  words  out  of  a  book  and 
say,  *Now  you  are  married.*    We  could  do  that  this 


REVELATION  209 

morning.  Shall  we  not  do  that,  Princess?  And 
then  come  back  here  and  make  our  home?" 

She  was  engulfed  in  a  wave  of  panic.  This 
dream,  it  seemed,  you  couldn't  waken  yourself  out 
of  with  any  mere  shake  of  the  head ;  it  kept  on  insist- 
ing it  was  true,  real,  something  to  be  grappled  with, 
something  that  was  clutching  her  with  a  grip  beyond 
her  strength  to  break.  She  wished  wildly  for  a 
moment  that  she  hadn't  pushed  Joe  overboard,  that 
she  had  let  him  come  along. 

She  tried  to  reassure  herself.  This  was  only 
Bill.  It  was  silly  to  be  afraid  of  him,  yet  her  heart 
was  throbbing  so  loudly  she  thought  it  must  be 
audible  to  him. 

She  had  scrambled  to  her  feet  and  he  had  sprung 
up  too.  He  was  looking  at  her  as  he  had  not  looked 
yesterday.  He  was  trembling,  too,  just  as  she  was. 
Something  was  going  to  happen  in  another  minute, 
but  she  didn't  know  what 

And  then  the  silence  was  broken  for  them  by 
the  sound,  faint  and  far  off  somewhere  among  the 
sandhills,  of  a  tune  played  on  a  flageolet — turn  turn, 
te  turn  te  turn — the  dune-bug  coming  back  with  a 
Wasket  of  dandelions! 


2IO  REAL  LIFE 

The  Princess  uttered  a  wild  little  laugh.  "We've 
eaten  every  single  one  of  his  nuts,  Bill !  We'll  have 
to  run  for  our  lives!" 

But  Bill  didn't  laugh.  "We  shall  not  run,"  he 
said  decisively.  "We  shall  stay  and  talk  with  him. 
We  shall  ask  him  where  we  must  go  to  get  mar- 
ried.    He  will  know." 

There  was  something  in  equal  parts  delicious  and 
terrifying  about  this.  He  was  a  new  Bill  and  no 
mistake;  no  longer  a  boy,  helpless,  appealing  to  an 
instinct  in  her  which  even  she  had  recognized  as  half 
maternal,  but  a  man,  quite  clear  as  to  what  he 
wanted  and  intent  upon  getting  it. 

The  dune-bug,  returning  with  a  basketful  of 
greens  and  garlanded  with  the  blossoms  of  the  same 
humble  plant,  was  greeted  by  Bill  with  the  same 
ceremonious  gravity  that  had  been  so  effective  with 
him  before,  and  the  devastating  raid  upon  his 
larder  was  apologetically  admitted ;  and  though  the 
dune-bug  firmly  rejected  Bill's  proposal  to  pay  for 
their  consumption  in  sordid  cash,  it  was  plain  that 
the  warmest  good  feeling  prevailed  both  ways. 

*Tt  imports  nothing,"  Bill  said.  "We  go  away, 
we  come  back  some  time  today,  and  when  we  come 
we  bring  nuts — whatever  you  like." 


REVELATION  211 

"Not  on  my  account,  I  trust!"  the  bug  pro- 
tested. "I  shall  do  perfectly  well  with  what  stores 
I  have  left  until  my  next  marketing-day." 

"We  come  back  anyway,"  Bill  informed  him. 
"We  think  this  is  the  place  where  we  are  going  to 
live."  Then,  seeing  that  his  host  looked  rather 
thoughtful,  he  added,  "We  go  a  little  way  off. 
There  is  room — not  so?  We  make  a  little  house, 
but  we  live  like  you.  We  throw  away  our  clothes. 
(The  Princess  gasped.)  We  lie  in  the  sun  and  I 
play  the  fiddle.    You  will  not  mind  that." 

Impulsively  the  dune-bug  stretched  out  his  hand. 
"We  are  twin  souls,"  he  said.  "The  solitude  will 
be  the  better  for  having  you  to  share  it  with  me. 
But  why  go  away  at  all  ?" 

"We  must  first  be  married,"  said  Bill.  "We 
must  go  to  find  the  right  sort  of  man  to  do  it.  You 
know  where  one  is?" 

"I  myself,"  said  the  dune-bug  politely,  "would 
be  perfectly  willing  to  perform  a  marriage  ceremony 
for  you.  But,"  he  went  on,  after  a  silence  which 
had  been  punctuated  by  another  gasp  from  the 
Princess,  "I  do  not  pretend  that  such  an  act  of  mine 
would  have  any  standing  whatever  in  the  eyes  of 
society." 


212  REAL  LIFE 

"You  mean,"  Bill  inquired,  "that  it  would  not  be 
a  good  marriage?" 

The  dune-bug  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "In  my 
own  opinion,"  he  said,  "it  would  be  as  good  as  any. 
But  I  am  not  what  you  speak  of  as  the  right  sort  of 
man.  I  see  you  prefer  legality.  Pray  do  not  con- 
sider my  feelings  in  the  matter.  I  trust  I  am  not 
intolerant,  even  of  prejudice." 

This  took  Bill  a  bit  out  of  his  depth,  but  he  got 
back  presently  to  the  main  issue. 

"You  know  where  we  could  find  a  man  like 
that  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  have  no  special  knowledge,"  said  the  dune- 
bug.  "But  there  is  a  city  not  far  from  here  named 
Crown  Point,  which  I  understand  specializes  in 
that  industry.  I  cannot  give  you  precise  directions 
to  it,  but  I  am  sure  that  once  upon  the  main  high- 
way, which  goes  roaring  by  not  far  from  here,  you 
would  have  no  difficulty  finding  it." 

"And  this  road,"  Bill  asked,  "how  we  find  that?" 

The  question  troubled  the  dune-bug.  "It's 
rather  intricate,"  he  said  at  last.  "I  think  it  will  be 
best  for  me  to  set  you  on  your  way.  Pardon  me  a 
moment" 


REVELATION  213 

Under  their  fascinated  eyes  he  extracted  from 
the  hollow  tree-trunk  a  battered  straw  suitcase. 

"I  ignore  civilization/'  he  said  aphoristically, 
"but  I  do  not  attack  it  When  I  go  forth  among 
men  I  wear  the  garments  which  their  convention 
prescribes." 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word  he  put  on  a  pair 
of  sailor's  duck  trousers,  a  khaki  uniform  blouse, 
buttonless,  which  he  fastened  with  three  safety-pins, 
and  a  pair  of  elastic-sided  shoes. 

**Now  I  am  ready,"  he  said. 

It  was  in  a  complete  daze  that  the  Princess  set 
off  between  her  two  companions.  Her  sole  con- 
tribution to  this  last  scene  had  been  the  two  gasps 
above  recorded.  The  sensation  of  being  carried 
along  by  the  irresistible  current  of  a  dream  out  of 
which  she  could  not,  somehow,  waken  herself,  was 
growing  stronger  and  stronger  all  the  while.  There 
was  just  one  thing  that  her  mind  could  cling  to ;  one 
anchor  that  she  could  conceive  as  holding  at  all.  In 
this  city  of  Crown  Point,  whither  Bill  and  the  dune- 
bug  were  so  relentlessly  propelling  her,  there  was 
sure  to  be  a  telephone.  She  could  call  up  Walter 
Patrick.    She  didn't  know  what  she  wanted  to  say 


214  REAL  LIFE 


to  him,  but  talk  to  him  she  would,  and  maybe  his 

voice  would  waken  her  out  of  the  dream. 
*         *         * 

[Telegram  : — Michigan  City.  7 130  a.  m.  City 
Editor,  Chicago  Tribune.  Yacht  has  come  in. 
Parties  missing  but  their  clothes  on  board.  Owners 
held  pending  inquiries.  Boy  says  they  went  ashore 
in  boat  about  four  thirty  this  morning.  Am  taking 
him  for  guide  in  motor  car  along  shore  road.  Will 
report  all  clues.  Alden.] 


CHAPTER  XV 


THE  COTTAGE 


AS  soon  as  the  dune-bug  had  conducted  Bill  and 
the  Princess  to  where,  from  the  crest  of  a  little 
hill,  the  highway  was  distinctly  visible  (there  was 
something  wary  about  the  way  he  did  it,  like  a  guide 
pointing  out  a  lion  to  a  hunter  on  the  East  African 
veldts)  he  took  hurried  leave  of  them.  Even  with 
his  clothes  on  he  couldn't  take  the  symptoms  of  civ- 
ilization easily.  They  had  wrung  from  him  no 
specific  information  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  the 
town  where  they  could  find  the  right  sort  of  man 
to  marry  them.  They  had  not  been  able  to  persuade 
him  to  guess  how  many  miles  it  was.  They  were 
to  turn  to  the  right,  and  that  was  all  they  knew. 

They  trudged  down  the  immediate  slope  and  up 
the  ensuing  one  in  silence.  The  Princess,  in  a  tangle 
of  contradictory  emotions,  feeling  more  tired  and 
bewildered  every  minute,  stole  now  and  then  a  won- 

215 


2i6  REAL  LIFE 

dering  glance  at  Bill.  He  had  seemed  until  this 
morning  so  soft  and  helpless  that  the  change  in  him 
amounted  to  a  transfiguration.  He  was  setting  the 
pace  now,  and  his  silence  had  something — not  unam- 
iable  but  stern  about  it,  as  of  one  vertebrated  by  an 
inflexible  resolution. 

She  was  glad,  when  they  reached  the  crest  of 
the  next  little  hill,  to  be  commanded  by  his  peremp- 
tory gesture  to  stop.  This  was,  she  discovered,  the 
last  of  the  dunes.  Before  them  lay  the  flat  prairie 
country,  and  to  the  left  a  considerable  stretch  of 
the  highway  was  before  their  eyes,  shadeless,  glar- 
ing white.  It  did  not  at  all  invite  the  tired  feet  of 
the  Princess.  The  prospect  of  tramping  unreckon- 
able  miles  over  it  was  almost  too  hard  to  bear. 
When  she  turned  to  ask  Bill  what  they  were  stop- 
ping for  she  saw  that  he  was  listening. 

^'Automobile,"  he  said  with  a  satisfied  nod,  "and 
coming  the  right  way.*' 

He  caught  her  hand  and  started  on.  "If  we 
run  down  to  the  road  quick,  perhaps  we  are  in  time 
to  catch  a  ride." 

But  she  held  back.  "I  can't  run,  Bill !"  she  pro- 
tested.    "I  am  most  too  tired  to  walk." 

"But  if  we  ride  we  shall  not  have  to  walk  V* 


THE  COTTAGE  217 

This  was  common  sense,  of  course,  and  she  was 
mustering  her  resolution  for  the  dash  when  the 
thing  he  had  heard  hove  in  sight,  and  with  complete 
accord  they  stopped  again  and  stared  at  it  spell- 
bound. 

It  was  a  motor  vehicle  of  the  most  prolific  and 
widely  known  of  all  breeds.  But  its  body  was — you 
felt  it  at  a  glance — unique.  It  would  have  had  a 
little  the  look  of  a  gypsy  wagon,  if  one  could  imagine 
a  clean  gypsy.  It  had  a  gable  roof  with  eaves;  it 
was  painted  to  resemble  a  summer  cottage,  white 
with  green  trim  about  the  curtained  windows;  it 
created  so  strongly  the  illusion  that  a  summer  cot- 
tage was  just  in  effect  what  it  was  that  one  won- 
dered a  little  at  the  absence  of  window-boxes  and 
trailing  vines  of  honeysuckle. 

The  Princess  uttered  an  outcry  of  clear  delight 
at  the  sight  of  it.  It  was  just  the  jolliest  little  thing 
she  had  ever  seen !  She'd  tell  Walter  Patrick  about 
it  the  first  chance  she  got  and  get  him  to  write  her 
a  picture  around  it. 

She  would  have  spoken  In  this  tenor  to  Bill,  but 
the  look  in  his  face  silenced  her.  He  stood  literally 
entranced,  like  one  who  has  just  heard  thd  voice  of 
the  Delphian  oracle,  while  the  cottage  rolled  briskly 


2i8  REAL  LIFE 

toward  the  point  where  their  trail  debouched  into 
the  highway.  Then  all  at  once  he  came  to,  waved 
his  arms,  shouted  and  went  leaping  down  the  hill 
toward  the  highroad. 

He  was  too  far  off,  the  Princess  saw,  to  have 
much  chance  of  attracting  the  attention  of  the  cot- 
tagers, or  any  of  intercepting  them.  And  before  he 
had  gone  very  far  he  also  perceived  that  this  was 
true,  and  stopped  in  an  attitude  of  extreme  dejection 
to  wait  for  her  to  overtake  him. 

Just  as  she  came  alongside,  though,  he  sprang 
once  more  to  the  alert,  listening  again.  "It  have 
stopped!"  he  cried,  "You  hear?  Nothing!  They 
wait  for  us.     It  is  fate,  just  as  I  have  thought!" 

He  seized  her  hand  and  fairly  dragged  her  out 
of  the  trail  and  up  the  wooded  bank  to  the  right. 

"We  go  this  way,"  he  explained.  "It  is 
quicker." 

He  was  mistaken  about  this.  Shorter  no  doubt 
it  was,  if  one  could  have  traveled  by  a  surveyor's 
line.  But  the  grove  of  trees  through  which  they 
had  to  make  their  laborious  way  was  heavily  under- 
grown  and  offered,  besides,  a  little  hill,  the  curved 
projection  of  the  one  they  had  just  descended,  to 
climb.    There  came  presently  to  their  ears  however 


THE  COTTAGE  219 

the  reassuring  sound  of  voices,  and  Bill  moderated 
his  furious  pace  in  favor  of  a  more  silent  approach. 

There  was  no  hurry.  This  they  perceived  the 
moment  they  got  the  cottage  in  sight  again.  It  had 
pulled  out  upon  the  grass  by  the  roadside  with  the 
evident  purpose  of  making  a  stay,  and  it  looked  even 
more  delectable  at  rest  than  it  had  in  motion.  They 
had  opened  out  the  back  of  it,  somehow,  into  a  little 
veranda. 

*T  just  can't  wait  to  see  the  inside  of  it,  Bill!" 
the  Princess  cried.  Then,  since  he  now  was  lag- 
ging, she  took  his  arm  and  added,  "Come  along." 

But  Bill  stood  still  in  his  tracks.  "You  shall  see 
the  inside,"  he  promised  her.  "But  first  we  will 
watch  a  little.  There  is  plenty  of  time.  We  sit 
down  here  behind  this  bush  where  we  shall  see  and 
they  will  not  notice  us." 

He  seated  himself  on  the  ground  as  he  said  it 
and  pulled  her  down  beside  him. 

"I  don't  get  the  idea !"  she  protested,  but  good- 
humoredly  enough.     "What  are  we  waiting  for?" 

"You  see,"  said  Bill,  "they  have  a  flat  tire.  It 
will  take  long  to  fix.  And  it  is  what  I  thought  from 
their  voices.  They  are  cross.  They  fight.  And 
that  is  good  for  us,  you  shall  see." 


220  REAL  LIFE 

How  their  chance  of  getting  a  Hft  to  Crown 
Point — or  wherever  it  was — was  improved  by  the 
crossness  of  the  cottagers  the  Princess  couldn't  see; 
didn't  indeed  feel  much  like  trying  to  guess.  She 
was  for  the  moment  content  to  watch  the  little 
scene  that  was  playing  itself  out  before  their  eyes 
as  it  might  have  done  on  the  stage  of  a  theatre. 
Patently  the  cottage  was  not  at  this  moment  the 
abode  of  peace.  Its  occupants,  husband  and  wife 
apparently,  were  not  actually  doing  each  other  vio- 
lence, and  their  voices,  though  audible  at  the  dis- 
tance, did  not  offer  an  intelligible  word  oftener  than 
now  and  then,  but  a  strong  mutual  exasperation  was 
revealed  in  every  tone  and  gesture.  Evidently  that 
punctured  tire  was  the  culmination  of  a  long  series 
of  annoyances. 

The  man  had  got  the  axle  jacked  up  by  now  and 
the  woman  was  helping  him,  but  with  an  air  of 
protest,  to  get  the  casing  off  the  wheel.  Presently 
there  was  an  accident.  "Damnation!'*  the  man 
roared,  and  sprang  away,  shaking  his  bruised  fin- 
gers. Evidently  she  had  let  the  tool  slip.  She 
flung  it  down  now  with  a  gesture  of  passionate 
indignation  and  walked  away. 

The  Princess  giggled.     It  was  perfectly  good 


THE  COTTAGE  221 

comedy  stuff.  But  Bill  began  very  carefully  put- 
ting on  his  wig,  which  for  coolness  as  they  had 
walked  along,  he  had  been  carrying  in  his  hand- 
Then  he  sprang  up  with  eyes  alight. 

"Give  me  some  money/'  he  said.  "You  have 
in  your  pocket — not  so?" 

"Why,  yes,"  said  the  Princess,  her  mirth 
instantly  extinguished;  "but — but.  Bill,  what  are 
you  going  to  do  with  it  ?    How  much  do  you  want  ?" 

But  it  occurred  to  her  then  that  it  was  all  his, 
and  she  put  the  whole  roll  into  his  outstretched  hand 
without  waiting  for  an  answer. 

"You  shall  see,"  said  Bill,  beaming  triumph. 
"You  shall  wait  here  a  little.  It  is  better  I  am 
alone." 

And  with  that  he  walked  briskly  down  the  slope 
toward  the  Ford  cottage  and  its  disgusted  owners. 
The  Princess  sat  gazing  thoughtfully  after  him. 

The  acrimonious  cottagers  had  at  last  seen  him 
coming.  The  man  straightened  up  from  his  tire 
long  enough  to  stare ;  then,  perceiving  that  his  wife 
was  going  to  meet  the  newcomer,  bent  over  it  again 
sulkily.  The  Princess  had  no  more  time  for  him. 
Her  attention  riveted  itself  upon  the  woman.  It  was 
easy  to  see  that  the  apparition  startled  her.     There 


222  REAL  LIFE 

was  something  somnambulistic  about  the  way  she 
moved  toward  Bill  that  suggested  to  the  Princess 
the  way  Joe  had  first  gazed  at  and  approached  her 
on  the  yacht.  She  was  reminded,  too,  of  something 
Bill  had  said  about  women  in  one  of  the  first  of  their 
conversations — about  the  habit  they  had  of  kissing 
his  hands.  Was  this  woman  going  to  try  it  ?  She'd 
better!  She  was,  the  Princess  decided,  despite  her 
trimness  of  waist  and  ankle,  old,  but  in  that  period 
of  old  age  before  one  has  the  grace  to  acknowledge 
it;  thirty,  if  she  was  a  day.  The  Princess  rocked 
forward  on  her  knees  and  parted  the  bushes  with 
both  hands  in  order  to  see  better. 

Bill  was  being  introduced  with  a  great  deal  of 
ceremony  to  the  woman's  husband,  and  while  she 
couldn't  suppress  a  thrill  of  pride  in  his  princely  air 
— mightn't  he  perhaps  be  a  prince  after  all  as  well 
as  the  world's  greatest  violinist? — she  couldn't  help 
thinking  that  his  strategy  was  bad.  That  sulky- 
looking  man  who  had  excused  himself  from  shaking 
hands  apparently  on  the  ground  that  his  own,  duly 
exhibited,  were  in  too  much  of  a  mess,  was  the  per- 
son presumably  with  the  final  say  as  to  whether  they 
got  their  lift  or  not.  Yet  Bill,  instead  of  offering  to 
help  with  the  tire  (and  with  those  steel-strong  hands 


THE  COTTAGE  223 

of  his  he  might  have  helped  effectively),  had  point- 
edly ignored  this  opportunity.  He  turned  away  to 
the  woman,  followed  her  up  the  veranda  steps  at 
the  back  of  the  little  cottage  and  with  her  disap- 
peared inside. 

The  Princess  scrambled  to  her  feet  and  moved  a 
little  nearer.  Wasn't  it  time,  in  spite  of  Bill's  wish 
to  keep  her  out  of  it,  that  she  intervened?  It  might 
make  that  man  frightfully  jealous  to  have  his  wife 
carrying  on  with  a  casual  stranger  like  that,  though 
certainly  she  wasn't  attractive  enough  to  cause  any 
worry,  one  would  think.  Mightn't  it  be  well  all 
around  if  she,  the  Princess,  went  down  there  and 
made  up  a  little  to  the  man  ?  Only  Bill  would  think 
that  she  had  come  tagging  after  him.  So  she  loit- 
ered irresolutely  between  an  intention  she  could 
avow  and  an  emotion  she  would  not,  until,  unex- 
pectedly, the  drama  moved  to  a  new  phase. 

The  man  had  just  finished  pumping  up  the  tire 
when  the  woman  emerged  from  the  cottage,  said 
something  to  him  with  an  air  of  brisk  resolution  and 
led  him  away  down  the  road.  Bill  now  appeared  on 
the  little  back  veranda,  looked  eagerly  toward  the 
spot  where  he  had  left  the  Princess,  caught  sight  of 
her  and  joyously  came  running  to  meet  her. 


224  REAL  LIFE 

It  wasn't  possible  to  resist  him  in  that  mood  of 
gaiety.  She  had  meant  to  be  a  Httle  on  her  dignity 
since  he  had  allowed  himself  to  be  carried  off,  as  it 
were,  by  another  woman  under  her  very  eyes.  But 
the  look  of  him  melted  all  that  and  she  met  him  half- 
way. He  caught  her  by  the  hand  and  they  raced 
to  the  cottage  like  a  pair  of  children. 

"Inside  is  the  best  of  all!"  he  told  her.  "She 
have  show  me  how  it  works !" 

The  Princess  hung  back  at  the  threshold,  from  a 
feeling  that  entrance  uninvited  would  be  an  intru- 
sion. The  thing  had  an  intimate  look,  like  a  home — 
a  home  with  love  built  into  it.  There  was  in  every 
detail  of  it  (for  Bill  had  excitedly  pushed  her  in  and 
begun  an  instant  demonstration  of  its  wonders)  a 
whimsical  touch  which  managed  to  reconcile  itself 
with  the  most  demure  practicality.  It  was  trans- 
formable at  will,  this  gaily  painted  little  room,  into 
kitchen,  bed-chamber,  sitting-room. 

You  pulled  down  the  lid  which  covered  the  pan- 
try shelves  to  keep  things  in  their  places,  and  had 
your  dining-table.  The  bunk  at  the  side  opened  out 
ingeniously  into  a  double  bed.  A  trap  door  in  the 
floor  swung  up  and  revealed  a  ridiculous  little  round 
bathtub  attached  to  the  frame  of  the  car.     Even  a 


THE  COTTAGE  225 

prosaic  thing  like  the  sink  was  an  enameled  preserv- 
ing-kettle suspended  by  its  two  handles  and  so  capa- 
ble of  being  emptied  by  tipping  it  over  backward  and 
discharging  its  contents  out  into  the  road.  The  little 
two-burner  stove  lived  beneath  it  and  swung  out  on 
a  rotating  shelf  when  you  wanted  to  cook,  and  then 
swung  back  when  you  had  finished  and  boiled  the 
water  in  the  sink  for  washing  dishes.  And  you 
knew,  somehow,  that  the  man  who  made  it  had 
laughed.  The  cottage  didn't  seem  to  belong  to  the 
quarrelsome  pair  who  were  in  possession,  and  the 
Princess  said  so. 

Bill's  explanation  showed  that  this  was  a  good 
guess.  A  man  who  lived  in  their  town  had  built  it  ; 
had  spent  a  whole  winter  building  it  all  with  his  own 
hands,  looking  forward  to  just  such  a  vagabond  voy- 
age as  this  pair  had  embarked  upon.  And  then,  just 
as  he  had  finished  it,  his  wife  had  run  off  with 
another  man,  and  he  had  sold  it  to  these  two,  who 
weren't,  it  seemed,  good  enough  sports  to  appreciate 
it. 

"That's  the  way  things  happen  in  this  world, 
isn't  it !"  said  the  Princess  gravely. 

Tucked  away  in  the  very  back  of  her  mind  was 
the  consideration  that  here  was  a  ^ood  start  for  the 


226  REAL  LIFE 

picture  she  was  going-  to  have  Walter  Patrick  write 
around  just  such  a  cottage  as  this;  this  very  one, 
should  it  prove  to  be  procurable.  But  this  thought 
v/asn'l  fully  recognized  by  herself,  let  alone  passed 
on  to  Bill. 

"It's  a  shame,"  she  went  on;  "the  dear  little 
place!  It  ought  to  be  lived  in  by  people  that  love 
it."  She  sprang  to  a  seat  on  the  high  bunk  and  with 
eyes  that  brightened  with  ready  tears  gazed  out  at 
the  picturesque  bit  of  woodland  that  was  framed  by 
one  of  the  curtained  windows.  "Wouldn't  it  be 
wonderful  always  to  be  at  home  and  yet  to  go  wher- 
ever you  liked?  Pick  out  a  new  view  from  your 
veranda  every  night  ?  And  if  the  sun  began  to  shine 
in  too  hot,  move  over  into  the  shade  somewhere? 
Wouldn't  that  be  just  sweet?" 

"You  love  it  then  ?"  Bill  asked,  in  that  new  voice 
of  his  that  went  through  her  somehow,  and  made  her 
teeth  feel  as  if  they  wanted  to  chatter. 

"Of  course  I  love  it!"  she  told  him.    "But.  ..." 

"There  is  no  'but'!"  Bill  cried.  "It  is  your 
house,  Princess!" 

He  snuggled  up  close  and  slipped  an  arm  about 
her.  "I  have  buy  it  for  you.  I  have  give  the  woman 
money;  a  thousand  dollars.    She  make  the  man  take 


THE  COTTAGE  227 

it  now.    They  go  away,  then  we  will  be  by  ourself. 

We  drive  to  Crown  Point.    We  marry.    Then  the 

uncles  can  say  nothing.     We  go  where  we  please. 

We  come  back  here  to  the  sand,  we  go  to  California, 

it  is  all  the  same.    — You  cry  because  you  are  happy 

— not  so?" 

*     *     * 

[Telegram  :  Borden,  care  Western  Union,  Crown 
Point.  Have  seen  man  who  gave  them  breakfast 
who  says  they  are  on  way  to  Crown  Point  with  in- 
tent to  marry.  Still  dressed  sailor's  clothes.  Girl 
may  be  wearing  boy's  wig.  My  informant  a  little 
insane  but  honest.  Alden] 


CHAPTER  XVI 


THE   VAMPIRE 


THE  PRINCESS  couldn't  for  the  life  of  her 
have  told  whether  she  was  crying  because  she 
was  happy  in  the  possession  of  Bill  and  this  darling 
little  house  and  the  prospect  of  a  position  within  the 
stronghold  of  matrimony  whence  mothers  and  uncles 
could  be  defied  to  the  end  of  time,  or  because  of  the 
sensation  that  she  was  slipping  helplessly  down  a 
glacis  into  an  unfathomable  abyss.  She  felt  both 
ways  about  it,  not  only  in  alternation  but 
simultaneously. 

But  it  seemed  not  to  matter  how  she  felt,  because 
inexorably,  for  the  next  half-dozen  hours  or  so,  the 
logic  of  events  pushed  her  along. 

The  woman  (their  name  was  Jenkins)' presently 
brought  back  her  husband,  acquiescent  in  but  clearly 
unenthusiastic  over  Bill's  bargain.  The  Princess 
was  duly  presented  and,  she  felt,  unduly  stared  at. 

228 


THE  VAMPIRE  229 

The  inappropriateness  of  her  attire  seemed  to  shock 
Mrs.  Jenkins,  who  led  her  forthwith  into  the  cottage 
and  suppHed  her  with  the  articles  which  modesty 
most  clearly  required,  a  skirt  and  a  pair  of  stock- 
ings, and  also  a  sun-hat  of  untrimmed  straw. 

The  skirt  was  a  horrible  affair  of  faded  green- 
ish-yellow plaid,  too  long,  too  full  and  a  good  two 
inches  too  big  in  the  band.  She  felt  like  a  guy  in 
it,  and  it  was  evident  from  Bill's  expression  when  he 
first  caught  sight  of  her  descending  the  back  steps 
of  the  cottage  that  it  affected  him  as  painfully  as  it 
did  her.  He  said,  as  he  walked  beside  her  toward 
the  bank  where  the  man  was  waiting  (the  woman 
had  stayed  inside  to  pack)  : 

"As  soon  as  they  are  gone  you  shall  take  it  off 
again.    It  is  hideous !" 

"As  soon  as  we  get  to  a  town  that  has  any  sort 
of  stores  in  it,"  the  Princess  retorted,  "I'm  going  to 
borrow  some  money  from  you  and  buy  some  decent 
clothes !  But  you'll  have  to  stand  me  like  this  until 
then ;  this  was  the  best  thing  the  old  cat  would  let  me 
have." 

The  one  emotion  she  was  unequivocally  sure  of 
just  then  was  that  she  hated  that  woman.  She  de- 
cided that  she  rather  liked  the  man.     In  a  philo- 


230  REAL  LIFE 

sophic,  humorous  way  he  talked  to  her  and  Bill, 
while  they  sat  on  the  bank  by  the  roadside  waiting 
for  the  woman  to  finish  packing,  about  their  misad- 
ventures with  the  cottage. 

The  cottage  itself  was  perfectly  all  right,  he  said, 
and  the  car,  too,  for  that  matter;  it  must  be  since  it 
was  quite  new — a  little  too  new  perhaps  for  all  the 
adjustments  to  be  just  right.  The  trouble  was  that 
he  was  a  mechanical  idiot  and  had  been  helpless  in 
the  face  of  difficulties  that  an  average  man  would 
have  made  nothing  of.  They  wouldn't  have  any 
trouble,  he  was  sure.  And  even  if  they  did,  his  view 
of  the  matter  was,  what  were  the  odds  ?  They  could 
be  perfectly  comfortable,  so  far  as  that  went,  any- 
where they  happened  to  be.  Mabel,  to  be  sure  (this 
must  be  his  wife),  didn't  look  at  things  in  quite  the 
same  way.  She  was  a  person  with  definite  ideas, 
and  if  she'd  got  set  on  camping  for  the  night  in  a 
certain  spot  on  the  map,  she  felt  disappointed  if  they 
didn't  get  there.  Quite  right,  too.  It  was  all  a 
question  of  how  you  looked  at  it. 

"I  drove  a  Ford  in  a  picture  once,"  the  Princess 
remarked,  "so  I  suppose  I'd  get  along  all  right  as 
long  as  it  ran.     But  if  anything  went  wrong.  .  ." 

"I  don't  believe  anything  will  go  wrong,"  Mr. 


THE  VAMPIRE  231 

Jenkins  interrupted  earnestly,  "unless  just  possibly 
the  carburetor  needs  a  little  looking  into.  Prob- 
ably your..."  He  broke  off  for  a  glance  at  Bill 
and  looked  hastily  away  again.  You  could  see  that 
Bill  was  a  mechanical  idiot  as  easily  as  if  it  had  been 
written  all  over  him  in  indelible  ink.  Jenkins  backed 
up  for  a  fresh  start.  "Certainly  at  the  next  town 
you  could  get  any  necessary  adjustments  made  in 
any  garage." 

"But  we  may  never  get  to  the  next  town!"  the 
Princess  cried.  Then :  "You  and  your  wife  will 
ride  with  us  as  far  as  Crown  Point,  won't  you?  Oh, 
of  course  you  will !  I  don't  believe  it's  out  of  your 
way  a  bit,  but  even  if  it  is — you'd  do  that  much  for 
— for  us — wouldn't  you?" 

The  Princess  meant  no  harm — as  God  was  her 
judge  she  meant  nothing  at  all! — by  the  instinctive 
gesture  which  had  accompanied  this  request.  Her 
hand,  adventuring  out  toward  him,  while  the  bright 
gaze  of  her  eyes  held  his,  had  come  to  rest  for  just 
an  instant  upon  his  knee.     That  was  absolutely  all. 

But  the  man,  with  a  jerk  as  if  the  contact  had 
burnt  him,  snatched  himself  away,  and  his  eyes,  full 
of  guilty  panic,  flew  around  toward  the  cottage 
window.      The    glance    of   the    Princess    followed 


23C2  >  REAL  LIFE 

quickly  enough  to  see  the  curtain  pulled  sharply 
across  the  pane. 

"I  don't  believe,"  poor  Jenkins  faltered  miser- 
ably, "that  that  was  exactly  Mabel's  idea.  You  see, 
there's  an  interurban  station  on  the  electric  line  that 
we  passed  just  a  little  way  back  on  the  road,  and  she 
thought  we'd  better  walk  back  to  that.  But  here 
she  comes  now.    Perhaps  if  you  were  to  ask  her. .  . " 

Here  she  did  come,  for  a  fact,  but  no  one  in  his 
senses  wotfld  have  ventured,  just  then,  to  ask  her 
anything  that  had  the  color  of  a  favor.  She  was 
dressed  concisely  in  her  most  urban  clothes.  She 
had  a  suitcase  in  each  hand  (she  had  packed  for  her 
husband  as  well  as  for  herself),  and  upon  her  brow 
there  sat  a  resolution  that  was  simply  adamantine. 

"We'll  start  now,  Julius,"  she  said.  At  the 
Princess  she  merely  looked.  (She  hadn't  even  a 
glance  for  poor  stricken  Bill.  Her  first  view  of  the 
shameless  little  baggage  Boris  Lazaref  was  travel- 
ing with  had  reduced  his  romantic  image  to  dust. ) 

But  the  Princess  was  not  to  be  so  easily  demol- 
ished. She  turned  her  back  upon  the  wife  and  stood 
face  to  face  with  the  husband.  "You'll  have  to  show 
me  how  the  car  starts,"  she  said.  "I  don't  know  one 
thing  about  the  machinery." 


THE  VAMPIRE  233 

"Julius !"  said  the  woman ;  but  he,  under  the  fire 
of  the  Princess's  eyes,  mustered  up  courage  to 
answer  her. 

"Well,  she's  right,  my  dear — about  this,  anyhow. 
We  did  sell  the  thing  to  them  as  a  going  concern. 
It's  only  fair  that  I  should  get  it  going  if  I  can." 

He  walked  round  with  the  Princess  to  the  front 
of  the  car,  the  woman  putting  down  her  bags  in  the 
road  and  following,  ostentatiously  upon  the  watch. 

The  provocation,  it  may  be  admitted-,  was  great. 
Still,  the  Princess's  behavior  during  the  next  few 
minutes  was  indefensible.  She  herself,  when  she 
had  time  to  reflect  upon  it,  was  shocked,  almost  in- 
credulous. For  to  put  it  bluntly,  she  attempted  to 
vamp  poor  Julius;  to  wreck  a  home!  And  from  the 
most  feline  of  motives,  too :  to  inflict  suffering  upon 
a  virtuous  member  of  her  own  sex  who  held  her  in 
disdain. 

She  mounted  to  the  driver's  seat  of  the  car  and 
for  an  opening  maneuver  falsely  professed  a  total 
ignorance  of  all  levers,  pedals  and  keys  within  reach. 
She  refused  to  be  instructed  except  by  tactile  meth- 
ods. Neither  hand  nor  foot  could  find  its  place  until 
Julius  had  taken  hold  of  it  and  put  it  there.  She  con- 
trived two  or  three  times,  in  a  flagrantly  factitious 


234  REAL  LIFE 

manner,  to  squeeze  his  hand.  But  the  technique  of 
that  sort  of  performance  doesn't  need  elaboration ;  it 
is  familiar  to  all. 

"Oh,  be  a  sport,"  the  Princess  murmured,  "and 
come  along  with  us ;  anyhow,  as  far  as  Crown  Point. 
She'll  come  if  you  do.  She  and  Bill  can  be  company 
for  each  other  inside  while  you  go  on  teaching  me  to 
drive." 

Lip-reading  may  have  been  one  of  Mabel's  ac- 
complishments, or  her  sense  of  hearing  unusually 
acute.  She'd  been  staring  all  the  while,  not  indeed 
with  the  sort  of  look  usually  described  as  melting, 
but  with  one  which  might  almost  have  been  expected 
to  have  that  effect  upon  the  windshield.  Now  with 
a  passionate  gesture  she  turned,  seized  one  of  the 
suitcases  and  started  away  in  the  direction  from 
which  the  car  had  come. 

Julius  gazed  after  her  a  moment  in  horror ;  then 
with  one  brusque  movement  he  disentangled  himself 
from  his  Delilah  and  sprang  into  the  road. 

But  instantly,  indomitably,  she  followed  him, 
snatched  up  his  suitcase  and  flung  it  rather  at  ran- 
dom into  the  interior  of  the  cottage,  where  unluckily 
it  collided  with  the  shins  of  poor  Bill,  who  during 


THE  VAMPIRE  235 

the  whole  of  this  episode  had  been  perched  in  a  cor- 
vine manner  upon  the  bunk. 

"Crank  up  the  car,"  she  commanded  excitedly, 
"and  we'll  go  back  for  her."  And  she  added,  as  he 
stood  there  miserably  dubious,  "You've  got  to  start 
the  car  before  you  can  go !" 

He  rushed  round  to  the  crank  and  desperately — 
once,  twice,  thrice  he  turned  it  with  no  results  save 
the  familiar,  futile  cough  of  a  sulky  or  impotent 
motor. 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  start  it,"  he  admitted  at  last, 
"You  see,  I  didn't  turn  it  off.  It  died  all  by  itself 
just  when  the  tire  went  flat.  It's  nothing.  It  can't 
be  anything,  except  perhaps  the  carburetor.  Per- 
haps if  you  spun  it,  round  and  round,  you  know,  it 
would  start ;  but  I've  been  warned  not  to  do  that  be- 
cause a  backfire  would  break  my  wrist.  I'm  s- 
sorry,"  he  stammered,  his  face  glistening  with  the 
sweat  of  shame,  "but — but  I'm  afraid  I  must  go 
after  my  wife." 

With  that,  avoiding  the  Princess's  devastating 
eye,  he  slunk  around  to  the  back  of  the  car,  received 
his  suitcase  from  the  ready  hand  of  Bill  and  went  off 
up  the  road  at  a  labored  canter. 

There  is  nothing  less  likely  to  put  one  in  an 


236  REAL  LIFE 

amiable  temper  than  attempting  to  be  wicked  and 
not  succeeding.  There  was  lightning  in  the  air,  and 
it  had  to  find  a  mark  somewhere. 

"Idiot!"  the  Princess  stormed  at  Bill.  "What 
did  you  give  him  his  bag  for?  If  you'd  just  had 
gumption  enough  to  hang  on  to  that  we  could  have 
kept  him  cranking  until  the  beastly  engine  started !" 

"I  am  glad  he  go,"  Bill  retorted  morosely.  "I 
have  enough  of  your  pretend  driving  lessons.  I 
would  not  keep  him  back." 

"All  right,  then,"  said  the  Princess,  "if  you  feel 
that  way  about  him  come  out  and  crank  it  up  your- 
self." 

She  weakened  a  little  at  the  sight  of  him.  A 
man  simply  hadn't  any  right  to  look  as  beautiful  as 
that!  But  she  braced  herself  and  pointed  implacably 
at  the  dangling  iron  handle. 

"Princess,"  he  somberly  demanded  of  her,  "do 
you  think  it  is  accurse,  this  house?  You  know  the 
man  who  make  it,  his  wife  run  away.  And  those 
two  who  buy  it  of  him,  it'  is  nothing  with  them  but 
fight  all  day  long.  And  now  we  begin.  Is  it  to  be 
with  us  like  that?" 

"Oh,  I  guess  not,"  said  the  Princess,  trying  not 
to  be  impressed.     "We'll  be  all  right  when  we  get 


THE  VAMPIRE  237 

started.  Come  along;  let's  see  if  we  can't  make  it 
go. 

She  caught  him  stealing  a  look  of  aversion  at 
the  crank,  and  certainly  he  moved  no  nearer  it. 

"Why  should  we  hurry  to  get  on  ?"  he  asked.  "I 
think  that  Julius  have  the  right  philosophy.  We 
can  be  happy  here — not  so?  We  have  our  house. 
We  have  this  nice  place.  Sometime  a  man  come 
along  and  help,  then  we  make  the  engine  go." 

A  destructive  conviction  was  forming  itself  in 
the  Princess's  mind.  "You  were  in  all  sorts  of  a 
hurry  to  get  to  Crown  Point  a  few  minutes  ago/* 
she  argued.  "Now  you  want  to  stay  forever  out 
here  in  the  middle  of  nowhere.  Why  should  anyone 
help  us  if  we  don't  try  to  help  ourselves?"  And 
then  the  real  question,  point  blank :  "Are  you  going 
to  crank  it  up,  Bill,  or  aren't  you?" 

That  smoked  him  out  of  his  defenses.  "No!"  he 
cried.  "I  will  not.  You  hear  him  say  it  break  the 
wrist.  If  it  break  my  wrist  I  am  ruin  for  life.  I 
can  never  play  the  fiddle  again.  I  will  not  risk  that 
for  a  hundred  such  houses." 

"Not  even,"  observed  the  Princess  dryly,  "to 
marry  me.    All  right,  then,  I  will  do  it  myself." 

She  gripped  the  handle  and  pulled  it  around; 


238  REAL  LIFE 

again  and  then  again  and  then  again.  Bill  mean- 
while wrung  his  precious  hands  together,  snatched 
off  his  wig  and  gripped  it  into  a  ball  (a  painless 
equivalent  to  tearing  one's  hair,  the  Princess  noted), 
and  finally,  learning  the  futility  of  entreaties,  of 
prohibition  and  of  such  poor  manifestations  of  force 
as  were  at  his  command,  he  cried  out  that  he  couldn't 
endure  the  sight  and  rushed  into  the  cottage  through 
the  little  front  door  beside  the  driver's  seat,  slam- 
ming it  after  him. 

"Oh,  damn! — damn! — damn!"  sobbed  the  Prin- 
cess after  every  futile  effort.  She  had  never  es- 
sayed profanity  before  and  she  got  poor  comfort  out 
of  it.  Sweat  and  tears  flowed  indistinguishably 
down  her  face,  and  she  stopped  at  last  even  trying 
to  wipe  them  away  with  the  sleeve  of  her  middy 
blouse. 

But  she  stuck  to  the  crank  after  all  hope  of  suc- 
ceeding was  gone.  She  stuck  even  when  her  ears 
brought  the  hope  of  a  rescue :  the  sound  of  a  car 
coming  down  the  road;  the  sound  of  it  stopping  in 
a  cloud  of  dust  beside  her;  the  sound  of  a  big,  nice, 
comfortable  bass  voice  saying,  "Can't  I  help  you 
out  ?    You  certainly  seem  to  be  up  against  it !" 

Here  was  the  sort  of  man — this  was  the  shatter- 


THE  VAMPIRE  239 

ing  idea  which  sprang  upon  the  Princess  when  at 
that  she  turned  and  looked  up  at  him — here  was  the 
sort  of  man  to  go  a-vagabonding  with ;  somebody 
strong  and  kind !  He  must  be  kind  to  have  stopped, 
because  he  couldn't  possibly  in  the  circumstances 
have  seen  that  she  was  pretty,  or  even  guessed. 

"There  must  be  something  the  matter  with  the 
engine,"  she  said  breathlessly,  "because  it  won't  go 
for  cranking.    I've  been  trying  for  'most  an  hour." 

"You  poor  kid !"  he  rumbled.  Then,  looking  at 
her  in  a  manner  meditative  at  first,  but  growing 
from  moment  to  moment  more  intense,  he  began  and 
abandoned  in  the  middle  half  a  dozen  questions,  each 
apparently  blown  to  pieces  by  the  cogency  of  its  suc- 
cessor. "What.  .  .  .You  aren't.  .  ,  .Where  are  you 
....  Who .  .  .  Why ..."  Then  he  laughed  a  big 
laugh  at  himself  and  said  he'd  rescue  her  first  and 
try  to  get  his  mind  unscrambled  afterward. 

"There's  one  question,  though,  that  I  always  ask 
before  I  go  to  work  on  a  dead  motor,  and  that  is, 
how  much  gas  have  you  in  the  tank?" 

Upon  her  admitting  that  she  hadn't  the  least  idea, 
he  investigated.  "Bone  dry!"  he  pronounced. 
"Well,  I've  got  a  five-gallon  can  in  my  car  that  I 


240  REAL  LIFE 

can  spare  as  well  as  not.  That'll  take  you  to  your 
next  stop  if  it  isn't  too  far." 

It  would  be  ungracious,  she  perceived,  not  to 
treat  this  as  a  question,  so  she  mentioned  the  name 
of  the  only  town  hereabouts  that  she  knew.  Crown 
Point.  He  blinked  at  that  and  visibly  held  back 
another  flight  of  questions.  Then  he  got  into 
action  again,  emptied  his  can  into  her  tank  and  after 
a  glance  at  spark  and  throttle,  turned  the  engine 
over  and  got  a  welcome  roar  for  a  response. 

The  Princess,  however,  was  conscious  of  a  pang 
of  disappointment.  He  looked  so  nice  and  he 
seemed  so  safe  and  dependable — it  was  sad  that  they 
must  part  with  no  better  acquaintance  than  this. 
Yet  the  two  chugging  motors,  pointing  in  opposite 
directions,  seemed  to  forbid  delay.  He  shared  her 
reluctance,  though,  she  thought ;  at  all  events,  he  had 
the  air  of  waiting  for  something. 

Then,  with  a  pang  of  embarrassment,  it  broke 
over  her.  Gasoline  cost  a  fabulous  amount  of  money 
these  days.  He  was  waiting  to  be  paid.  And  the 
only  money  in  the  world  that  she  could  command 
was  in  Bill's  pocket.  And  where  was  Bill  ?  She  had 
managed,  in  the  past  few  minutes,  to  forget  his  very 
existence! 


THE  VAMPIRE  241 

"I'll  have  to  go  into  the  house  a  minute  to  get 
you  the  money,"  she  explained. 

"Oh,  please  don't  mind  about  that !"  he  cried,  as 
overwhelmed  by  the  thought  of  it  as  she  had  been. 
"Really,  I  wasn't  waiting  to  be  paid.  But  if  you'd 
just  let  me  have  a  look  inside ;  because  it's  the  jolli- 
est  thing  I  ever  saw." 

It  was  not  a  request  possible  to  refuse,  so  she 
nodded  a  speechless  assent  and,  leading  the  way 
around  to  the  veranda,  where  the  steps  were,  went 
in  ahead.  Bill  was  in  there,  just  as  she  had  supposed 
he  must  be,  sitting  cross-legged  on  the  bunk^  look- 
ing, without  his  wig,  more  like  the  Raven — in  the 
act  of  saying,  "Nevermore!" — than  he  had  even 
when  she  had  heaved  Julius's  suitcase  at  his  legs. 

Turning  to  reassure,  as  best  she  could,  their 
guest,  the  Princess  saw  him  standing  on  the  step 
gazing  in  with  the  look  of  one  who  has  been  pre- 
vailed upon  to  bite  into  a  ripe  olive  just  plucked 
from  the  tree.    She  whipped  round  again  upon  Bill. 

"Will  you  give  me  some  money,"  she  said  icily, 
"to  pay  for  the  gasoline  ?" 

Bill  snatched  the  whole  roll  from  his  pocket  and 
thrust  it  into  her  hand.     "I  have  no  use,"  he  said. 


242  REAL  LIFE 

"Take  all."  And  since  this  was  the  quickest  thing  to 
do  she  did  it. 

Outside — for  the  good  Samaritan  hadn't  fol- 
lowed her  in — she  asked  him  how  much  it  was. 

"One  dollar  and  fifty  cents,"  he  told  her  crisply, 
and  made  change  with  equanimity  for  the  twenty  she 
tendered  him. 

"Thank  you  very,  very  much,"  she  ventured. 

"Don't  mention  it,"  he  replied  with  dignity,  and 
climbed  into  his  car. 

The  Princess  mounted  her  own  driving-seat, 
made  expert  play  of  her  pedals  and,  only  a  moment 
later  than  her  rescuer,  was  speeding  away  in  the 
opposite  direction,  toward,  she  assumed,  Crown 
Point. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

OUT  OF  THE  LOOKING-GLASS 

THE  PRINCESS'S  intention  during  that  twenty- 
mile  drive,  even  when  a  row  of  cottages  along 
the  road  and  discontinuous  patches  of  sidewalk  indi- 
cated that  they  had  pretty  nearly  reached  the  end  of 
it,  was  perfectly  ambiguous.  If  some  supernatural 
messenger  had  confronted  her  at  any  stage  of  it  with 
the  question  "What  are  you  going  to  Crown  Point 
forf"  she'd  have  been  utterly  at  a  loss  for  an  answer. 
She'd  have  denied,  I  think,  that  she  meant  either  to 
desert  Bill  or  to  marry  him.  And  yet  the  one  thing 
that  she  was  avowedly  determined  upon  was  that  she 
wouldn't  drift  along  with  him  any  farther  like  this. 
Something  was  going  to  happen  when  they  got  to 
Crown  Point — so  much  she  knew. 

She  couldn't  have  remained  thus  precariously 
balanced  upon  the  needlepoint  of  a  paradox  for  a 
good  hour  and  a  half  if  she  hadn't  been  driving  the 

243 


244  REAL  LIFE 

car  herself.  The  task  involved  in  keeping  a  grip 
upon  that  squirming  wheel,  and  a  bright  lookout  for 
shell-holes  in  the  falsely  smooth-looking  white  sur- 
face of  that  worn  macadam  road,  kept  the  rigorously 
analytical  processes  of  self-scrutiny  in  abeyance. 

She  soon  got  over  being  mad  at  Bill.  She'd  been 
completely  furious  with  him  of  course  when  she 
sprang  to  the  wheel  and  drove  away  from  that  dis- 
illusioned good  Samaritan.  After  a  mile  or  two 
he  had  come  clambering  over  the  back  of  the  seat 
from  the  interior  of  the  cottage  and  without  a  word 
huddled  down  beside  her.  For  another  mile  after 
that  she  neither  spoke  to  nor  looked  at  him. 

He  had  failed  her  lamentably,  there  was  no  get- 
ting away  from  that.  He  had  allowed  her  to  run  a 
risk  which  she  had  forced  him  to  admit  he  was  afraid 
to  assume  himself,  and  in  the  interest  of  their  com- 
mon good  at  that.  He  had  been  afraid  to  crank  the 
car  that  was  to  start  them  on  their  wedding  journey! 

Could  you  imagine  Richard  Barthelmess  or 
Earle  Williams,  or  even  a  foreigner  like  Sessue 
Hayakawa,  doing  a  thing  like  that?  Could  you 
imagine  any  sort  of  hero,  even  the  most  equivocal — 
anyone,  indeed,  short  of  an  ignominious  villain- 
being  guilty  of  such  an  act?    No;  you  couldn't. 


OUT  OF  THE  LOOKING-GLASS  245 

Her  own  derelictions  in  trying  to  vamp  poor 
Julius  didn't  justify  him  in  the  least — they  made  it 
all  the  more  imperative  that  he  be  noble  and  mag- 
nanimous. Poor  Bill  had  made  the  great  refusal, 
there  was  no  getting  away  from  that.    And  yet . . . 

He  sat  so  still  that  at  last  she  stole  a  glance  at 
him  and  was  reminded  poignantly  of  a  moment, 
ages  ago,  there  in  the  shrubbery  in  Jackson  Park, 
when  she  had  told  him  he  must  let  her  think.  His 
attitude  now  and  the  solemn,  scared  look  in  his  face 
made  him  seem  once  more  like  a  little  boy ;  one  who 
has  misbehaved  at  a  party  and  is  being  taken  home 
to  be  spanked.  She  looked  away  from  him  hastily 
and  fixed  her  eyes  upon  the  road  again. 

He  must  have  felt  the  glance,  although  he  hadn't 
turned  to  meet  it,  for  now  he  cuddled  a  little  closer 
and  laid  his  hand  upon  her  knee.  For  another  mile 
she  ignored  this  approach;  then  momentarily  she 
yielded  to  the  extent  of  taking  one  of  her  hands 
from  the  wheel  and  laying  it  upon  his.  But  as  she 
found  herself  going  limp  at  that,  she  quickly  took  it 
away  again,  straightened  up  and  gave  the  car  a  little 
more  gas. 

"You'll  have  to  move  farther  away.  Bill,"  she 
said.    **I  can't  drive  like  this." 


246  REAL  LIFE 

Meekly  he  did  precisely  what  he  was  told  and 
from  then  on,  though  there  were  no  more  caresses, 
there  was  no  longer  between  them  the  sense  that 
they  were  quarreling.  They  chatted  intermittently 
over  the  minor  incidents  of  the  drive,  and  especially 
found  amusement  in  the  sensation  which  the  appear- 
ance of  their  moving  house  created  whenever  they 
passed  through  a  hamlet  or  encountered  another 
vehicle  on  the  road. 

Bill,  the  Princess  was  aware,  would  have  liked 
to  stop.  He  made  some  tentative  remarks  about 
being  hungry  and  thought  she  must  be  in  need  of  a 
little  rest.  But  she  ignored  these  suggestions — for 
stopping,  she  knew,  would  bring  matters  to  some 
sort  of  head — and  he  did  not  press  them. 

So  it  came  about  that  when  they  found  them- 
selves rolling  down  a  brick-paved  hill  into  a  good- 
looking  little  rural  city,  which,  they  took  it  for 
granted,  was  Crown  Point,  their  affair  was  really 
no  farther  advanced  than  it  had  been  when  they  took 
leave  of  the  dune-bug. 

They  had,  however,  got  to  the  point,  in  the  heart 
of  the  town,  where  further  postponement  was  no 
longer  possible.  The  Princess  ran  the  cottage  up  to 
the  curb  and  stopped. 


OUT  OF  THE  LOOKING-GLASS  247 

Catacomer,  in  the  middle  of  a  square,  tree-plant- 
ed lawn,  stood  an  imposing — relatively  imposing,, 
anyhow — public  building  of  some  sort  with  a  high 
basement  and  columns,  a  political  sort  of  dome  and 
a  broad  flight  of  stone  steps  leading  monumentally 
up  to  the  entrance  on  the  first  floor. 

The  streets  bounding  the  square  in  which  it  stood 
were  built  up  solidly  with  shops — bright,  good-look- 
ing shops  with  a  really  imposing  luster  of  plate-glass 
and  electric  signs. 

The  building  before  which  their  little  cottage 
had  so  incongruously  stopped  was  a  veritable  de- 
partment store,  and  the  frocks,  shoes  and  hats  dis- 
played in  its  windows  had  a  metropolitan  air  which 
brought  vividly  to  the  Princess's  consciousness  the 
indubitable  fact  that  she  looked  a  fright. 

Meanwhile  a  crowd  had  gathered  around  the 
cottage.  A  wild-beast  wagon  strayed  from  a  circus 
parade  wouldn't  have  provoked  more  curiosity. 
Three,  four,  five  deep,  both  sexes,  all  ages,  the  citi- 
zens gathered,  staring,  the  Princess  felt,  insuj>- 
portably. 

Bill  didn't  seem  to  mind  a  bit.  Why,  he  hadn't 
even  bothered  to  put  on  his  wig!  He  just  sat  there 
looking  about  with  a  mild  curiosity  of  his  own. 


248  REAL  LIFE 

"This  is  the  place,  I  think,"  he  said  to  the  Prin- 
cess. Then,  giving"  her  no  warning  of  his  intention, 
he  turned  to  the  nearest  of  the  spectators,  a  man  who 
had  been  crowded  forward  until  his  face  wasn't 
three  feet  from  Bill's  own.  "You  can  tell  us,  per- 
haps," he  said,  "where  we  go  to  get  married?" 

"Why,"  said  the  stranger,  recovering  from  his 
start  at  being  addressed  like  that,  "there's  the  court- 
house right  across  the  street." 

Bill  wanted  to  be  sure  he  understood.  "You  get 
married  at  a  courthouse?"  he  asked. 

"You  get  a  license  at  the  courthouse,"  his  infor- 
mant explained;  "at  the  coimty  clerk's  office. 
When  you  get  a  license  you  can  get  married  by  who- 
ever you  like ;  any  preacher  or  justice  of  the  peace. 
For  that  matter,  the  court  is  sitting  today  and  I 
guess  the  judge  himself  would  marry  you  if  you 
asked  him." 

"All  right,"  said  Bill,  turning  back  to  the  Prin- 
cess; "we  go  now  and  get  married  all  in  the  same 
place — not  so? — by  the  judge." 

"Bill,"  she  said  desperately,  "you  know  what  I 
told  you  about  clothes.  I  just  can't  get  married — 
anyway — looking  like  this.  I  want  to  go  right  into 
this  store  and  get  something  fit  to  wear." 


OUT  OF  THE  LOOKING-GLASS         249 

He  was  perfectly  agreeable  to  this  idea  and  vol- 
unteered to  come  along  and  help  with  the  selection. 
To  this  she  said  "No!"  so  resolutely  that  she  made 
him  blink. 

"You  couldn't  really  help — because  I'd  have  to 
be  trying  on.  And  anyway,  somebody's  got  to  stay 
here  and  watch  the  cottage." 

He  must  still  have  been  feeling  very  meek,  for 
he  offered  no  answer  to  either  of  these  easily  de- 
structible argfuments.  All  he  said  was  that  he  hoped 
it  wouldn't  take  long.  She  was  reminded  again,  by 
the  scared  look  in  his  eyes,  how  he  hated  to  be  left 
alone. 

"No,"  she  faltered;  "it  won't  take  very  long — 
I— I  don't  think." 

With  that  she  slipped  down  into  the  road  and 
around  the  back  end  of  the  cottage,  and  squirmed 
through  the  crowd  on  the  sidewalk  into  the  store. 

She  hadn't  as  yet  made  her  choice.  She  wasn't 
even  facing  the  fact  that  the  choice  must  be  made 
now,  in  this  hour,  between  a  lifetime  with  Bill  and 
one  without  him.  She  needed  clothes,  whatever  she 
was  going  to  do.    Nobody  could  deny  that. 

Shoes  first;  it  was  queer  how  those  flapping 
sneakers   demoralized   her!     And   of   course   you 


250  REAL  LIFE 

couldn't  tell  how  any  sort  of  garment  looked,  even 
the  simplest  little  suit,  until  you  saw  it  pedestaled 
upon  properly  clad  feet  and  legs.  Black  would  do 
all  right  for  both.  She  didn't,  heaven  knew,  want 
to  be  any  more  conspicuous  than  necessary. 

Equipped  with  these  indispensables  she  went  up- 
stairs to  the  suit  department  and  found  with  very 
little  trouble  something  that  would  do  quite  well :  a 
snug  little  sport  suit  of  blue  jersey  cloth  that  might 
almost  have  been  made  for  her.  The  selection  of  a 
hat  was  a  matter  of  more  difficulty,  for  most  of  the 
things  they  showed  her  had  a  fixed-up  look  she 
didn't  care  for.  But  she  bought  at  last,  since  it 
really  looked  rather  nice  and  would  do  equally  well 
for  motoring  or  for  riding  in  the  train,  a  floppy  blue 
silk  tam-o'-shanter. 

She  went  straight  on  after  that,  swiftly  like  a 
hound  upon  the  scent,  accumulating  the  remaining 
items  she  needed — a  sport  shirt;  silk  gloves;  a 
leather  vanity-case,  equipped. 

And  then,  complete  at  last,  she  paused  for  a  final 
inspection  before  a  floor-length  mirror.  She'd  been 
looking  in  mirrors  all  along  of  course,  to  get  the 
effect  of  the  various  garments  she  was  purchasing. 
Now  it  was  the  ensemble  merely — in  other  words. 


OUT  OF  THE  LOOKING-GLASS  251 

herself — at  which  she  was  looking,  and  herself  look- 
ing back  at  her  out  of  the  mirror. 

Leda  Swan,  authentic,  unmistakable!  Leda 
Swan  of  Hollywood! — missing,  frantically  searched 
for  of  course !  She  must  telephone  at  once !  What 
in  the  world  had  she  been  thinking  of  all  this  while  I 
She  must  get  to  Chicago!  She  must,  if  possible, 
talk  to  Walter  Patrick ;  tell  him  where  she  was ! 

A  vision  of  Bill  suddenly  possessed  her:  Bill, 
patiently  guarding  their  future  home ;  that  cottage — 
that  sweet  little  cottage — she  wanted  so  much  to 
make  a  picture  of;  that  cottage  out  there  in  the 
street  surrounded  by  a  crowd  ten  deep. 

Oh,  it  was  ridiculous;  not  only  the  cottage — 
Julius  and  Mabel — the  dune-bug — the  yacht — Joe, 
whom  she'd  pushed  off  into  the  water.  It  was  a 
dream,  that's  what  it  was ;  a  perfectly  frantic  dream. 

All  but  Bill.  Bill  wouldn't  be  dissolved  that  way. 
Bill  was  waiting. 

But  was  he?  It  wasn't  like  him  to  wait  very 
long.  More  probably  he  was  right  here  in  the  store, 
wandering  around  looking  for  her.  At  any  second, 
around  any  corner,  he  might  appear. 

She  blinked  and  shook  her  head  in  the  effort  to 


2Sit  REAL  LIFE 

rouse  herself  out  of  this  trance  into  which  the  sight 
of  Leda  Swan  in  the  mirror  had  plunged  her. 

Others  besides  herself,  shoppers  and  salespeople, 
had  identified  her — were  staring,  nudging,  whis- 
pering. She  fled  for  refuge  to  a  floorwalker,  a 
rather  nice-looking  young  man  in  a  cutaway  coat 

"I  want  to  telephone,"  she  said.  "Where's  the 
nearest,  quickest  place  where  I  can  telephone — ^to 
Chicago?" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


THE  FIFTH  REEL 


^  I  *HAT  last  Specification  put  him  off,  checked  in 
•*•  the  middle  a  rather  Delsartian  gesture  toward 
the  telephone  booth  and  caused  him  to  blush. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  "you'll  have  to  go  to  the  telq)hone 
exchange  two  blocks  up  Main  Street  for  that." 

"I  won't  go  out  on  the  street !"  said  the  Princess 
passionately.  *T  want  to  telephone  now,  from  here. 
Do  you — do  you — know  who  I  am  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  Miss  Swan,"  he  said  huskily  and  went 
on  to  assure  her  that  she  was  welcome  to  telephone 
from  the  office  upstairs. 

He  led  her,  not  to  the  elevator  as  she  had  hoped 
(because  in  an  elevator  you  are  comparatively  safe 
from  a  chance  encounter  with  a  person  like  Bill), 
but  down  the  main  aisle  to  the  back  of  the  store,  up  a 
broad  flight  of  stairs  to  where,  on  a  sort  of  mezza- 
nine, were  the  offices.  Everybody  up  here  was  very 
nice  to  her  and  of  course  polite  no  end. 

253 


254  REAL  LIFE 

After  she  had  told  the  telephone  operator  that 
she  wanted  to  talk  to  her  suite  in  the  Congress 
Hotel  and  to  Mr.  Walter  Patrick,  if  he  was  there, 
they  showed  her  into  the  private  office  of  the  pro- 
prietor, who  was  out  of  town  for  the  day,  and  told 
her  she  could  wait  here  until  her  call  came  through, 
and  talk  from  here  at  the  desk  instrument  when  it 
did. 

It  was  very  quiet  and  comfortable  with  no  one 
to  stare  at  her  and  nothing  to  be  apprehended  from 
Bill,  and  she  just  sat  and  waited,  until  the  bell  rang, 
without  an  idea  what  she  should  say.  She  discov- 
ered that  her  hand  was  trembling,  though,  when  she 
reached  out  to  unhook  the  receiver;  and  when,  in 
response  to  her  "Hello!"  Walter  Patrick's  unmis- 
takable voice  answered  with  a  steady,  "Is  that  you. 
Princess  ?"  the  trembling  got  a  whole  lot  worse  and 
crept  into  her  voice,  so  that  after  she'd  said,  "Yes," 
she  added,  " — and  I'm  perfectly  safe  and  all  right.'* 

He  said,  at  that,  "Thank  God!"  in  a  way  that 
brought  a  lump  into  her  throat. 

"Did  I  frighten  you  horribly?"  she  asked,  in  a 
wave  of  the  first  real  contrition  she'd  felt. 

He  said  he  didn't  mind  admitting  it  now,  though 
he'd  spent  the  night  assuring  the  others  that  she'd 


THE  FIFTH  REEL  255 

turn  up  somewhere,  safe  and  sound,  no  matter  what 
had  happened  to  her.  — By  the  way,  where  was 
she? 

"Crown  Point,"  she  told  him,  and  since  it 
seemed,  from  the  way  he  said  "What?"  that  he 
couldn't  catch  the  name  of  the  place,  she  added  that 
it  was  the  town  where  people  came  to  get  married. 
And  so  completely  was  she  absorbed  in  the  man  she 
was  talking  to  that  even  this  explanation  was  made 
without  rousing  a  thought  of  the  man  whom  she  had 
left  waiting  in  the  cottage. 

But  the  way  Walter  Patrick  took  it,  waked  her 
up.  "Princess,"  he  said, — quietly  enough  but  with 
an  edge  in  it  that  brought  the  color  flooding  into 
her  face — "you  haven't  married  anyone — have 
you?" 

"No !"  she  cried.     "Of  course  not !" 

"And  you  aren't  going  to  marry  anyone,  are 
you,  within  the  next  couple  of  hours  ?  Not  before  I 
can  get  down  to  you  ?  I'll  come  just  as  fast  as  a  car 
can  take  me." 

Just  the  mere  size  and  density  of  the  lump  in  her 
throat  kept  her  from  answering  this  question  until 
after  an  agonized  little  silence  he  had  repeated,  "You 
won't,  will  you,  Princess  ?" 


256  REAL  LIFE 

"Of  course  not !"  she  cried  once  more.  "I'm  not 
going  to  marry  anyone  at  all.  I'm  coming  back  to 
Chicago  just  as  quickly  as  I  can." 

He  surprised  her  by  demurring  to  that.  "I'd 
rather  come  and  get  you,"  he  said,  and  took  a  few 
seconds  of  silence  to  think  something  out.  "Your 
mother's  getting  in  this  morning,"  he  added; 
"should  be  here  now,  but  her  train's  late." 

For  some  reason,  obscure  to  herself,  the  Princess 
laughed.  "All  right,"  she  said.  "I'll  wait  here.  Do 
you  want  me  to  go  to  the  hotel  ?" 

His  answer  was  emphatic  that  he  did  not.  "And 
I'd  like,"  he  went  on,  "to  get  you  out  of  that  whole 
damned  town  just  as  quickly  as  possible.  If  you 
could  drive  somewhere  to  meet  me. .  .Listen,  Prin- 
cess, I'll  tell  you  just  what  to  do." 

She  said,  "Wait  a  minute,  Walter.  There's  so 
much  noise  out  in  the  hall  that  I  can't  hear." 

A  hasty  hand  just  then  snatched  the  wrong  jack 
out  of  its  socket  in  a  telephone  exchange  somewhere 
along  the  route,  and  Walter  Patrick  was  again  a 
hundred  miles  away.  The  Princess  jiggled  her  hook 
impatiently.  He  hadn't  told  her  yet  what  he  wanted 
her  to  do.     No  use;  she  couldn't  raise  anybody. 


THE  FIFTH  REEL  257 

She'd  hang  up  the  receiver  for  a  few  minutes  and 
then  try  again. 

Her  Hps  were  touched  with  a  faint  reflective 
smile.  Calling  him  Walter  like  that  was  almost  as 
funny  as  her  having  laughed  just  now  when  he  spoke 
of  her  mother,  or  his  having  sworn  an  outspoken 
**damn"  in  a  conversation  with  her. 

It  didn't  seem  to  be  quieting  down  much  out 
there  in  the  store.  Somebody  with  heavy  feet  was 
clumping  up  the  steel-shod  stairs.  She  heard  a  door 
flung  open  and  then  a  big  voice  asked: 

*Ts  there  anyone  in  here  who  answers  to  the 
name  of  Princess?" 

Now,  so  far  as  anything  about  her  could  be  pri- 
vate and  personal,  that  name  was.  It  was  known,  I 
suppose,  to  several  thousand  persons,  but  it  didn't 
get  into  print.  So  her  response  to  it  was  automatic. 
She  jumped  up,  opened  the  door  and  went  out  into 
the  corridor,  saying  to  the  first  man  she  saw — a  big 
bony  person  in  a  blue-serge  suit — "Does  anyone 
want  me  ?" 

By  this  time  an  explanation  had  occurred  to  her. 
Walter  Patrick  had  himself  succeeded  in  re-estab- 
lishing the  connection  and  had  asked  for  her  by  that 


258  REAL  LIFE 

name  to  avoid  causing  a  riot.  So  she  added  to  the 
big  man,  "On  the  telephone,  or  anything?" 

The  big  man  blinked  at  her,  as  people  nearly  al- 
ways did  when  they  came  upon  her  unexpectedly, 
and  asked  in  a  startled  way,  "Is  your  name 
Princess?" 

She  nodded,  and  asked,  as  the  ring  of  spectators 
crowded  up,  "Can't  I  talk  to  him  from  the  little  of- 
fice back  here  where  I  was  ?" 

"I  haven't  got  him  with  me,"  said  the  big  man. 
"He's  locked  up  over  at  the  jail,  but  he  was  carrying 
on  so  for  somebody  he  called  the  Princess  that  I 
came  over  on  a  wild-goose  chase,  you  might  call  it, 
to  see  if  I  could  find  her.  That  was  the  only  name 
we  could  get  out  of  him." 

She  gazed  up  at  him,  wide-eyed,  and  gulped. 
"The  jail !"  she  echoed.    "Who's  in  jail  ?" 

"Oh,  a  queer-looking  young  fellow  with  a  shaved 
head.  Came  into  town  a  while  ago  in  a  contraption 
that  was  a  sort  of  moving  house;  took  up  half  the 
street.    Do  you  know  him?" 

She  acknowledged  in  a  daze  that  she  did — an 
answer  which  seemed  to  perturb  somewhat  the  offi- 
cer of  the  law. 

"Well,  then,"  he  suggested  dubiously,  "perhaps 


THE  FIFTH  REEL  259 

you  wouldn't  mind  coming  along  with  me  and  tell- 
ing the  chief  what  you  know  about  him.  Maybe 
you  can  quiet  him  down,  too.  He's  been  lashing  out 
like  a  wildcat  at  anybody  who  came  near  him. 
Talking  some  sort  of  cat  language,  too,  Russian,  I 
guess.  We  wouldn't  have  locked  him  in  the  cell  if 
he'd  have  kept  quiet." 

"I'll  come,"  the  Princess  said,  speaking  in  a  sort 
of  spiritual  vacuum.  Nightmares  again!  This 
couldn't  really  be  happening  to  her! 

The  policeman  took  her,  gently  for  him,  by  the 
arm  and  partly  by  main  force,  partly  by  the  weight 
of  authority,  forced  a  passage  for  them  through  the 
swiftly  gathering  throng,  down  the  stairs,  down  the 
aisle,  down  the  street,  not  very  far,  thank  heaven,  to 
a  modest  little  building  that  nestled  in  the  court- 
house square,  under  the  wing  of  its  imposing  neigh- 
bor; through  a  door  into  a  sort  of  office  where 
another  big  man  with  a  gold  star  got  up  and  ex- 
changed cryptic  utterances  with  her  guardian;  and 
then,  the  accompanying  crowd  pressed  back,  down 
a  corridor  to  a  steel-barred  door  with  a  little  window 
in  it  through  which,  they  indicated  to  her,  she  was 
to  look. 

It  was  Bill,  of  course,  that  they  had  in  there. 


26o  REAL  LIFE 

The  faint,  forlorn  hope  that  the  wildcat  prisoner 
would  turn  out  to  be  somebody  else  got  its  coup  de 
grace.     It  had  never  been  really  alive. 

He  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  bunk,  his  dis- 
heveled wig  a  little  awry,  his  head  buried  in  his 
hands.  She  tried  to  call  his  name,  but  the  voice 
wouldn't  come.  She  found  she  couldn't  see  him 
very  well.  Things  were  beginning  to  turn  black. 
Then  she  felt  a  steadying  arm  thrown  around  her 
and  found  herself  being  carried  away. 

She  was  tilted  back  in  a  swivel  chair  by  an  open 
window  when  things  began  coming  clear  again,  and 
she  W2iS  just  in  time  to  save  herself  from  having  a 
glassful  of  water  dashed  into  her  face  by  uttering 
an  eager  "No;  I'm  all  right!"  The  next  moment, 
sitting  a  little  straighter,  she  asked,  "Did  I  really 
faint?"  She  felt  rather  pleased  about  this.  She'd 
never  done  it  before. 

They  were  as  nice  as  they  could  be,  these  two 
policemen.  They'd  driven  the  rest  of  the  crowd 
away,  outside  a  wooden  rail. 

"You  just  take  it  easy,"  the  gold-star  policeman 
said,  "and  evei-ything  will  come  out  all  right." 
Then  a  little  diffidently  he  added  a  question.  "You 
are  Miss  Leda  Svran,  aren't  you  ?" 


pq 


THE  FIFTH  REEL  261 

She  nodded. 

"Well,  well,  well!"  said  the  big  policeman,  imr 
mensely  pleased.  "This  will  be  a  story  to  tell  my 
wife.  I  never  thought  to  really  meet  you  yourself, 
let  alone  like  this." 

She  was  feeling  pretty  weak  and  tremulous. 
Her  eyes  blurred  with  tears.  If  she  could  just  be  let 
alone,  stop  existing  altogether,  until  Walter  Pat- 
rick, who  was  probably  already  on  his  way  as  fast 
as  a  car  could  take  him,  came  and  carried  her  off 
and  put  her  on  the  train  for  Hollywood ! 

"There,  there,"  said  the  big  policeman  comfort- 
ingly. "You  take  it  easy.  There's  nothing  to  feel 
bad  about.  If  you  really  know  this  young  man  and 
will  tell  us  who  he  is,  we'll  turn  him  loose  in  a  min- 
ute. I  don't  know  if  you  got  a  good  look  at  him 
before  you  fainted.  That  ain't  his  own  hair.  He's 
wearing  a  wig.  His  head  was  shaved  not  very  long 
ago  and  that  made  him  look  kind  of  suspicious  to  us. 
You  see,  there  was  a  convict  escaped  from  the  state 
prison  up  at  Michigan  City  the  first  of  the  week  and 
we've  all  been  instructed  to  keep  a  lookout  for  him. 
One  of  these  Russian  Bolsheviki. . .  Got  sent  up 
last  year.  This  young  fellow  don't  look  much  like 
the  rogues'-gallery  picture  we've  got  of  him,  but 


262  REAL  LIFE 

then  they  ain't  much  to  go  by.  He  seems  to  be  a 
Russian  all  right  and  he  wouldn't  account  for  him- 
self at  all.  Hit  right  out  and  liked  to  blacked  Offi- 
cer Jones's  eye  the  minute  he  laid  a  finger  on  him. 
But  as  I  say,  if  you  can  really  vouch  for  him — tell  us 
who  he  is  and  where  he  comes  from  and  so  on. . .. 
You  see,  he  won't  even  tell  us  his  name." 

It  broke  over  the  Princess  with  terrific  force 
that  she  didn't  know  his  name  either;  she'd  forgot- 
ten! He'd  told  it  to  her  there  on  the  dunes  this 
morning,  but  it  was  gone  now.  All  she  knew  was 
Bill  Lawrence.  She  never  could  get  by  with  that. 
She  couldn't  get  by  with  any  of  it.  There  was  no 
recital  of  plain  facts  that  would  convey  to  that  police- 
man's blunt  official  mind  the  least  assurance  that 
the  man  in  the  cell  was  not  in  fact  the  escaped  con- 
vict he  was  looking  for.  There  was  a  growing  mis- 
giving in  his  gaze  now  as  she  hesitated.  That 
yachtsman  last  night  on  the  Sally  had  looked  at  her 
with  just  that  expression. 

"I  guess  maybe,"  he  said,  "you'd  better  have 
another  good  look  at  him  to  make  sure  that  he's  the 
man  you  think  he  is.    Go  and  fetch  him  out,  Pete." 

The  other  policeman  got  up  deliberately  and  lum- 
bered down  the  corridor. 


THE  FIFTH  REEL  263 

Well,  there  were  only  two  possible  things  to  do. 
One  was  to  deny  Bill  utterly ;  leave  him  to  get  out  of 
his  scrape  as  best  he  could.  It  wouldn't  take  more 
than  a  few  hours  to  discover  that  he  wasn't  an  es- 
caped convict.  Anyhow,  Walter  Patrick,  when  he 
came,  would  attend  to  that.  The  other  was  to  take 
the  high  line.    All  or  nothing! 

And  she  didn't  know,  when  she  heard  two  pairs 
of  steps  coming  back  along  the  corridor,  which  it 
was  to  be. 

But  when  she  saw  him,  when  he  stood  there  be- 
fore her,  pale,  pitiable,  helpless  in  the  hostile  grasp 
of  that  big  policeman,  and  looking  at  her — a  stricken 
look — with  those  wide  childlike  eyes  of  his,  there 
was  no  choice. 

And  there  wasn't  even  perceptible  hesitation. 
She  felt  the  blood  come  flushing  into  her  face.  She 
sprang  to  her  feet.  She  cried  out  in  a  sob,  "Bill !" 
and  flew  to  him,  flung  her  arms  around  him  and 
fairly  wrested  him  out  of  the  grasp  of  the  dazed 
policeman. 

"He's  the  man  I'm  going  to  marry!"  she  said. 
"Why  should  he  have  to  account  for  himself  to 
you?" 


CHAPTER  XIX 


THE  FIRE-ESCAPE 


FROM  then  on  it  was  easy.  Indeed,  for  half  an 
hour  or  such  a  matter  the  Princess  had  a  won- 
derful time.  Powerful  emotional  scenes  were  not 
supposed  to  be  precisely  in  her  line,  but  she  didn't 
believe  that  Pauline  Frederick  or  Elsie  Ferguson  or 
anybody  could  have  risen  to  this  situation  any  bet- 
ter than  she  did.  The  opposition  was  just  stubborn 
enough  to  give  her  a  thrill  of  pure  triumph  in  batter- 
ing it  to  pieces. 

The  chief  took — or  would  have  taken  if  she'd 
given  him  half  a  chance! — the  yachtsman's  line 
exactly,  and  poor  Joe's.  Bill  didn't  look  to  him  like 
a  fitting  bridegroom  for  any  young  girl,  let  alone 
for  Leda  Swan.  How  long  had  she  known  him? 
Who  was  he  anyway  ? 

Luckily  the  second  question  could  be  taken  as 
cancelling  the  first.    "Who  is  he !"  cried  the  Princess 

264 


THE  FIRE-ESCAPE  265 

in  a  fine  burst  of  rhetoric.  "He's  the  greatest  vioHn- 
ist  in  the  world,  that's  who  he  is!  And  you  let  a 
common  policeman  arrest  him  and  lock  him  up  in 
jail!  If  you've  hurt  him  anywhere — his  hands  or 
anything — it  will — it  will  cost  you  dear."  She  felt 
a  little  selfconscious  over  that  phrase,  but  she  got 
into  her  stride  again  at  once.  "Why,  he  gets  three 
thousand  dollars  just  for  playing  one  concert!" 

She  turned,  now,  on  Bill.  "They  haven't  hurt 
you,  have  they,  Bill  darling?    Feel  and  see." 

Bill  was  beyond  words.  He  flexed  his  hands 
just  the  way  he  had  done  in  the  taxi  at  the  beginning 
of  their  first  ride  together,  and  vaguely  shook  his 
head. 

"I  guess  the  only  one  to  get  hurt,"  the  chief 
remarked  rather  drily,  "was  the  man  he  hit  in  the 
eye.  But  now  look  here,  Miss  Swan.  He's  told 
you  he's  the  greatest  vioHnist  in  the  world  and 
maybe  he  is,  even  if  he  did  lie  about  the  amount  he 
got  paid  for  one  concert.  There  ain't  a  fiddler  in 
the  world  ever  got  paid  as  much  as  that ;  but  talkin' 
to  a  young  lady  a  fellow  might  stretch  three  hun- 
dred, perhaps,  with  another  nought  on  the  end  of  it, 
not  meanin'  any  special  harm.  But  do  you  know 
he's  a  fiddler  at  all  ?    And  if  so,  will  you  tell  me  how 


266  REAL  LIFE 

it  comes  he  turns  up  from  nowhere  with  a  shaved 
head,  without  a  cent  in  his  pockets,  in  another  man's 
clothes — a  pair  of  pants  three  sizes  too  big  for  him 
and  a  sweater  with  the  name  George  Gordon  Frank- 
lin sewed  on  the  inside?" 

Once  more  the  chief  had  asked  one  question  too 
many.  The  former  question  was  far  deadlier  than 
the  one  with  which  he  had  blanketed  it.  The  Prin- 
cess was  regally  ready  with  an  answer  to  the  second. 

"We  left  Chicago  last  night  together  on  a 
yacht,"  she  said,  "with  friendsi  And  the  yacht  was 
shipwrecked." 

"Shipwrecked !"  cried  the  chief.    "Last  night?" 

''We  ran  aground,"  the  Princess  amended  coldly. 
**And  we  came  ashore  in  a  rowboat — in  some  sail- 
ors' clothes  that  we  borrowed  of  them.  And  Bill 
bought  that  little  car,  that's  fixed  up  like  a  cottage, 
and  gave  it  to  me  for  a  wedding  present.  And  we're 
going  to  drive  out  to  Hollywood  in  it.  That's  where 
we  meant  to  go  when  we  left  Chicago.  All  we  came 
here  to  Crown  Point  for  was  to  get  married." 

"Crown  Point !"  echoed  the  chief.  "This  isn't 
Crown  Point." 

"But  they  have  tell  us,"  protested  Bill  (these 
were  his  first  words  except  the  "Princess!"  he  had 


THE  FIRE-ESCAPE  267 

cried  out  at  first  sight  of  her),  " — they  tell  us  we 
can  get  married  here." 

"Sure  you  can,"  the  policeman  said.  "Every- 
body in  Indiana  don't  go  to  Crown  Point  to  get  mar- 
ried.   It's  Chicago  people  do  that." 

"But — but  we  wanted  to  go  to  Crown  Point," 
stammered  the  Princess.  She  had  to  gulp  at  the 
lump  in  her  throat,  though  she  knew  the  chief  was 
looking  at  her.  Somehow  the  realization  that  Wal- 
ter Patrick  wouldn't  be  able  to  find  her  after  all, 
gave  her  a  frightful  wrench;  illogical,  of  course, 
which  made  it  all  the  more  bewildering.  What  did 
she  want  of  Walter  if  she  was  going  to  marry  Bill  ? 
As  best  she  could  she  pulled  herself  together.  "I 
think  we'll  carry  out  our  original  plan,"  she  said. 
"It  isn't  very  far  to  Crown  Point,  is  it?" 

The  chief  didn't  answer  her  question.  He 
rocked  back  in  his  chair  and  reflectively  began 
thumping  the  arm  of  it  with  his  thick  palm.  "No," 
he  announced  at  last.  "No,  by  gum !  I'm  sorry,  Miss 
Swan,  but  I  can't  O.  K.  that  plan.  If  you  want  to 
get  married,  here  and  now,  I  don't  see  as  there's 
anything  I  can  do  to  prevent  you,  little  as  I  like  it. 
You're  both  of  legal  age,  I  guess,  and  so  far  as  I 
know  you're  neither  of  you  married  to  anybody  else. 


268  REAL  LIFE 

But  I  won't  turn  this  young  fellow  loose  to  go 
trapesing  over  the  country  with  you  in  that  portable 
house  of  yours — unmarried.  So  if  you  don't  feel 
like  taking  the  fatal  step  right  now,  you  can  leave 
your  young  man  here  with  me  till  I  can  find  out  who 
and  what  he  is.  It  won't  take  more  than  a  day  or 
two  at  most." 

With  a  superb  toss  of  the  head  the  Princess 
turned  upon  the  subordinate.  "Is  it  a  legal  marriage 
that  they  do  here?"  she  asked.  "If  it  is,  I  think 
we'll  have  it  at  once.  We've  been  insulted,  both  of 
us,  long  enough !    Will  you  tell  us  where  to  go  ?" 

"He'll  go  along  with  you,"  said  the  chief.  "I'm 
sorry  you  feel  that  way  about  it.  Miss  Swan.  I 
never  meant  to  insult  you,  and  I  don't  believe  I  did. 
I  hate  to  have  as  pretty  a  little  lady  as  you  thinking 
ill  of  me,  but  a  man  has  to  do  his  duty  as  he  sees  it. 
And  if  you'll  wait ..." 

Still  she  did  not  look  at  him.  She  dared  not, 
the  fact  was,  with  that  impulse  in  her  to  throw  her- 
self upon  his  big  broad  chest  and  beg  to  be  hidden 
away  where  no  one  could  even  look  at  her  until  some' 
one  of  her  own  people — like  Walter  Patrick — should 
come  to  the  rescue.    And  for  some  less  definable 


THE  FIRE-ESCAPE  269 

reason  she  dared  not  look  at  Bill  either.  He  was 
there,  she  knew ;  that  was  enough  for  the  present. 

So,  without  a  word,  high-headed,  with  bright, 
blurred  eyes,  she  marched  upon  her  fate.  The  po- 
liceman fell  in  beside  them  on  Bill's  other  hand,  as 
they  passed  through  the  gate  in  the  rail  and  made 
their  way  through  the  crowd  to  the  door. 

Quasi-criminal  as  their  appearance  was,  escorted 
like  that,  she  was  glad  they  had  the  officer  along 
since  without  his  powerful  shoulders  they  never 
could  have  progressed  at  all  through  the  crowd.  It 
flowed  straight  along  with  them  up  the  courthouse 
steps  and  into  the  wide  hall.  It  was  still  worse  in- 
side, and  they  fairly  had  to  fight  their  way  to  the 
door  that  had  the  legend  ''County  Clerk"''  painted 
upon  it.  And  when  they  found  it  locked,  the  Prin- 
cess broke  down  and  wept. 

"Oh,  he  ain't  far  off,"  announced  the  policeman, 
after  a  second  quite  superfluous  bout  of  rapping  and 
thumping  on  the  door.  "He's  getting  his  dinner,  I 
guess,  over  at  the  Gem  Cafe." 

"Then  go  and  fetch  him  back  instantly,"  the 
Princess  commanded. 

The  policeman  took  off  his  hat  for  the  single- 
minded  purpose  of  scratching  his  head.     "I  don't 


270  REAL  LIFE 

just  see  how  I  can  do  that,  Miss  Swan,"  he  said. 
"We  could  all  go  together,  of  course." 

She  squeezed  the  tears  out  of  her  eyes  and  would 
perhaps  have  been  able  to  annihilate  him  with  a  look 
had  not  the  crowd  pressed  her  up  so  close  against 
him  that  she  had  to  crane  her  neck  to  see  his  face 
at  all. 

"You  mean  we're  still  under  arrest?"  she  de- 
manded.    "Like  criminals?" 

"Well,  you  aren't,  that's  so,"  he  conceded.  "If 
you'll  let  me  take  your  friend  along  with  me  I  can 
go  all  right." 

"I  won't  be  left  alone,"  said  the  Princess,  "with 
this  mob.    I'm  afraid  I'm  going  to  faint  again." 

The  policeman  did  his  athletic  best  to  win  a  little 
clear  space  for  this  luckless  pair  of  honeymooners, 
and  the  inner  ring  of  the  crowd  aided  as  best  they 
could,  but  they  were  helpless.  The  situation  was 
really  serious. 

And  then  a  big  voice  took  command  of  it.  The 
Princess,  squeezed  in  as  she  was,  couldn't  see  where 
it  came  from  but  it  checked  the  feeling  of  panic  that 
was  taking  possession  of  her. 

"Clear  the  hall  at  once,"  it  commanded.  "Go 
straight  out  of  the  building,  all  of  you,  beginning 


THE  FIRE-ESCAPE  271 

with  those  nearest  the  doors.  Gus  Axelson,  Jim 
Martin,  I  appoint  you  bailiffs.  Clear  them  out. 
This  building's  been  condemned  for  twenty  years." 

"You're  all  right  now,"  the  policeman  told  the 
Princess.  "That's  the  judge.  They  won't  monkey 
with  hinx" 

Already,  indeed,  the  pressure  of  the  crowd  had 
sensibly  diminished  and  it  wasn't  thirty  seconds  be- 
fore a  sufficient  clear  space  had  opened  around  her 
so  that  she  could  turn  and  look  at  their  rescuer. 

He  stood  on  the  landing  of  the  broad  stair  lead- 
ing up  to  the  second  story,  where  the  courtroom  was, 
a  short  but  immensely  big  man  in  a  silvery-gray 
alpaca  suit.  He  had  a  panama  hat  in  his  hand  with 
which,  in  a  majestic  manner,  he  fanned  himself.  He 
came  lumbering  down  the  stairs  as  the  Princess 
watched  him,  but  he  stopped  three  or  four  steps 
from  the  bottom  and  spoke  again. 

"I  don't  want  anybody  left  in  here,"  he  said, 
"who  isn't  prepared  to  tell  me  personally  the  nature 
of  his  business  in  this  courthouse." 

By  the  time  he  got  down  to  the  floor  level  the 
only  persons  not  visibly  on  their  way  out  were  the 
policeman  and  the  forlorn  pair  in  his  charge. 

"What  started  the  riot,  Pete?"  the  judge  in- 


274  REAL  LIFE 

bookcases  around  most  of  the  walls  and  a  deeply 
tufted  leather-upholstered  sofa  in  one  corner. 

But  the  thing  to  which  all  these  observations 
were  secondary  in  the  mind  of  the  Princess  was  the 
smell  of  bananas,  and  there  was  a  half-eaten  banana 
on  the  desk. 

The  judge's  eye  may  have  followed  her  glance. 

"Tommy  Hahn,  the  county  clerk,"  he  somewhat 
breathlessly  observed,  "weighs  one  hundred  and 
twenty-eight  pounds  and  eats  three  square  meals  a 
day.  I  weigh  most  three  hundred  and  eat  nothing 
from  breakfast  to  supper-time  but  an  occasional 
banana.  There's  an  injustice  that  the  law  don't 
provide  a  remedy  for." 

The  Princess  managed  a  feeble  smile  by  way  of 
answer  to  this  remark,  but  this  was  the  best  she 
could  do.    She  hadn't  a  word  to  throw  to  a  dog. 

"Well,  well,"  the  judge  went  on,  removing  the 
banana  by  way  of  tidying  up,  "I  guess  you've  been 
having  a  pretty  hard  time.  Make  yourselves  at 
home  in  here.  I'll  be  right  in  the  courtroom,  next 
door.  The  clerk  will  be  back  in  a  few  minutes  and 
make  out  your  license,  and  as  soon  as  he  does  that 
I'll  marry  you.  Then  things  will  begin  to  look  a 
little  brighter,  maybe." 


THE  FIRE-ESCAPE  275 

With  that  he  waddled  out  into  the  next  room 
and  shut  the  communicating  door  behind  him.  Bill 
crumpled  down  on  the  edge  of  the  sofa  and  the  Prin- 
cess seated  herself  in  the  big  swivel  chair. 

The  only  thing  she  could  think  of,  somehow,  was 
that  half-eaten  banana  which  the  judge  had  flung 
into  the  waste-paper  basket.  It  was  a  crime  to  waste 
good  food  like  that  when  there  were  so  many  thou- 
sands of  starving  people  in  the  world ! 

One  of  the  deep  bottom  drawers  of  the  desk  was 
half  open,  and  as  her  eye  fell  upon  it  she  discerned 
a  paper  bag — a  biggish  paper  bag  with  the  top 
twisted  tight.  Irrepressibly  her  hand  strayed 
toward  the  drawer,  reached  within  and  toyed  with 
that  twisted  neck  of  paper,  which  somehow  came 
undone. 

Yes ;  it  had  been  a  good  guess. 

"Bill,"  she  said  in  a  vibrant  whisper,  "there  are 
five  bananas  in  here.  I'm  going  to  eat  one.  Will 
you?" 

"I  do  not  eat  bananas,"  said  Bill  dully.  "My 
uncle  does  not  permit.    He  say  they  make  me  sick." 

"Well,"  said  the  Princess,  "I  suppose  it's  steal- 
ing, but  I'm  going  to  just  the  same." 

She  ate  one — like  a  wolf,  one  might  say,  except 


276  REAL  LIFE 

that  wolves  don't  eat  bananas,  broke  off  another 
and  began  a  Httle  less  ravenously  on  that. 

"It  doesn't  matter  any  more  what  your  uncle 
says.  Bill,"  she  remarked  between  bites.  "Do  they 
make  you  sick?  That's  the  point.  You'd  better 
try  one.  I  never  tasted  anything  so  good  in  my 
life." 

He  didn't  answer.  She  looked  around  at  him — 
she  had  rather  carefully  kept  her  gaze  averted  until 
now — and  saw  that  he  was  weeping. 

"Bill !"  she  cried,  springing  up — she  didn't  relin- 
quish her  banana,  however — and  going  over  to  him. 
"Tell  me  what's  the  matter." 

"Everything  is  the  matter,"  he  sobbed.  "I  feel 
very  bad.    I  think  I  am  going  to  die." 

She  patted  his  shoulder,  though  there  wasn't 
much  life  in  the  caress,  and  tried  to  comfort  him. 

"I  know  it's  just  because  you're  hungry,"  she  as- 
serted. "I  feel  a  lot  better  already.  Try  just  one 
bite,  there's  a  dear." 

She  peeled  back  the  skin  a  little  farther  and  held 
it  out  to  him  invitingly.  But  he  shuddered  and  went 
rather  green  at  the  sight. 

"I  do  not  want !"  he  cried  in  a  convulsive  whis- 
per, and  flung  himself  away  from  her.     "It  look 


THE  FIRE-ESCAPE  277 

nasty.     It  make  me  sick.     I  want  Yakov.     Yakov 
know  to  take  care  of  me.    I  want  Yakov." 

"Well,  you'll  have  to  do  without  him,  I  guess," 
said  the  Princess,  and  walked  away  to  the  window. 

She  didn't  precisely  feel  hurt  that  her  ministra- 
tions had  been  so  frantically  rejected;  she  went  on 
quite  calmly  munching  at  the  despised  banana.  But 
she  was  aware  that  the  future  simply  didn't  bear 
looking  at.  The  very  inexorability  of  the  fate  that 
was  closing  down  upon  her  contributed  to  her  calm. 

Physically,  of  course,  flight  was  still  open  to  her. 
Indeed,  the  means  by  which  it  could  be  accomplished 
were  patent  to  her  eye  as  she  stood  there  at  the  win- 
dow. But  it  was  impossible  just  the  same.  She 
stood  committed;  she  had  taken  her  line,  given  her 
word.  She  could  never  again  regard  herself  as  a 
heroine  if  she  took  French  leave  now.  No;  there 
was  nothing  more  to  think  about.  So  she  went  on 
and  finished  her  banana. 

Crossing  the  street  at  the  visible  corner  of  the 
square  was  her  policeman,  coming  back  with  a  wiry 
little  man  who  must  be  Tommy  Hahn,  the  county 
clerk.  It  would  soon  be  over  now.  They  were  com- 
ing up  the  sidewalk.  They  were  at  the  foot  of  the 
courthouse  steps. 


278  REAL  LIFE 

And  then,  just  as  she  was  about  to  turn  away, 
she  started,  gasped  and  stared.  A  yellow  taxicab, 
dusty  and  unkempt  from  a  long  hard  run,  but  an 
authentic  yellow  Chicago  taxi  all  the  same,  exactly 
like  the  one  she  and  Bill  had  begun  their  momentous 
flight  in  yesterday  afternoon,  had  pulled  up  with  a 
jerk  opposite  the  courthouse  steps. 

Why,  it  was  the  same  taxicab !  She'd  know  that 
chauffeur  as  far  as  she  could  see  him ! 

A  rescue !    Walter  Patrick — just  in  time ! 

Her  eyes  flooded  with  tears,  but  she  squeezed 
them  angrily  out  of  the  way.  It  couldn't  be  Walter, 
could  it?  It  was  too  soon  for  him  to  have  arrived 
here,  even  by  the  most  furious  driving,  since  she  had 
talked  with  him  over  the  telephone  in  Chicago.  And 
anyway,  she  had  told  him  she  was  in  Crown  Point. 
Why  didn't  the  passenger  get  out,  whoever  he  was? 
What  was  he  waiting  for  ? 

Then  the  cab  door  opened  and  she  turned  away 
from  the  window  with  a  wild  little  laugh. 

"Bill,"  she  said,  "here's  your  uncle !" 

His  look  at  first  was  merely  vacant. 

"My  uncle!"  he  repeated.    "My  uncle  Sergius!" 

Then  a  light  of  lurid  terror  came  into  his  eyes. 


THE  FIRE-ESCAPE  279 

"Take  me  away !"  he  cried.  "Take  me  away  quick ! 
He  must  not  find  me  here !" 

"But,  Bill,  he  can't  do  anyt^-ng,"  the  Princess 
argued.  "He  can  make  an  awful  scene,  of  course, 
if  he  wants  to,  but  it  won't  get  him  anything.  He 
can't  stop  us  from  l^eing  married." 

"He  can!  He  can!  He  would  never  permit. 
You  do  not  know  him,  when  he  shine  his  teeth  and 
glare  his  eyes  at  you.  Come — we  must  run!  We 
must  be  quick !" 

He  snatched  her  hand  and  tried  to  drag  her 
toward  the  door. 

"There's  no  good  trying  to  get  out  that  way," 
she  said.  "We'd  only  meet  him  in  the  hall  or  on  the 
stairs.  — But  if  you  zvant  to  get  away,"  she  went  on 
more  tensely,  "if  you  want  to  run  away  with  me  to — 
Crown  Point  or  anywhere,  we  can  do  it  easy 
enough.    Come  here  and  I'll  show  you." 

She  lugged  him  along,  half  dazed  as  he  was, 
toward  the  window. 

"You  see  that  yellow  taxicab?"  she  whispered. 
"It  is  the  one  your  uncle  came  in.  But  it's  the  very 
same  one — anyhow,  it's  the  same  chauffeur — that 
we  had  yesterday  when  we  ran  away  from  him. 


28o  REAL  LIFE 

He'd  do  anything  for  me,  I  know.  And  we've  still 
got  plenty  of  money." 

"But  you  say  we  cannot  get  to  him,"  Bill  pro- 
tested. "We  cannot  go  down  the  stairs.  We  meet 
my  uncle." 

"It's  easy,"  she  whispered.  "Come  here  closer 
to  the  window  and  I'll  show  you.  All  we  have  to  do 
is  go  down  the  fire-escape  and  make  a  run  for  it. 
He'll  drive  away  with  us  all  right — leave  that  to 
me!" 

By  this  time  he  was  standing  beside  her  at  the 
open  window. 

"But  it  do  not  go  down,"  he  protested.  "It  stick 
straight  out  along  the  wall.  We  shall  fall  off  the 
end  and  be  killed." 

"But,  silly,"  she  explained,  "it's  made  that  way. 
You  crawl  out  on  that  little  platform  and  then  scoot 
out  on  the  edges  of  those  steps  and  when  you've 
gone  part  way  they  go  down  with  you  and  make  a 
regular  flight  of  stairs  to  the  ground.  That's  how 
everybody  gets  out  of  buildings  when  they're  on  fire. 
Come  along,  quick.  There's  Tommy  Hahn  in  the 
other  room  now." 

He  tried — he  really  tried — to  do  it.  But  half- 
way out  the  window  he  paused  for  an  irresolute  look 


THE  FIRE-ESCAPE  281 

at  the  ground  below — the  distance  was  thirty  feet 
perhaps^ — swayed  a  moment  giddily  and  then  came 
scrambling  back  into  the  room. 

"It  is  no  use !"  he  said.  "I  cannot  do  it.  I  give 
up.  I  let  my  uncle  catch  me.  I  go  where  he  say.  I 
am  finish." 

Thoughtfully,  compassionately,  she  gazed  into 
his  face,  "I  guess  you're  right.  Bill,"  she  said.  "I 
gness  it's  no  go.  But  it's  been  a  wonderful  time, 
hasn't  it?    Goodbye,  Bill.    Oh,  yes;  I'm  going." 

She  took  him  by  the  shoulders  and  kissed  him. 
Then,  hearing  voices  in  the  courtroom,  she  slipped 
out  through  the  window,  sped,  like  a  cat  along  a 
fence,  out  to  the  end  of  the  horizontal  fire-escape, 
rode  down  with  it  two-thirds  of  the  way  to  the 
ground  and  impatiently  jumped  the  rest,  flew  across 
the  sward  to  the  yellow  taxi,  sprang  inside  and 
slammed  the  door  behind  her. 

The  chauffeur  must  have  been  in  a  doze,  for  he 
gave  a  galvanic  shudder  at  the  noise,  straightened 
up  and  said  without  turning  around: 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  there  wasn't  any  use  of  com- 
ing here?    Where  do  you  want  to  go  now?" 

"Anywhere,"  said  the  Princess,  sinking  limply 
back  against  the  cushions;  "anywhere  out  of  this!" 


282  REAL  LIFE 

Then  as  he  whipped  around  and  stared  at  her 
she  added,  "Drive  me  to  the  Congress  Hotel." 

"But  look  here,  Miss  Swan,"  he  protested,  "I've 
got  a  fare.  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  about  Mr. 
Trotsky?" 

"He  doesn't  need  you  any  more,"  she  argued. 
"He's  got  Bill." 

The  tears  came  into  her  eyes  at  the  thought  of 
that  and  she  squeezed  the  lids  tight  shut. 

"That's  all  right,"  the  chauffeur  persisted,  turn- 
ing sulkily  away  from  a  feeling  that  the  sight  of  her 
tears  put  him  at  an  unfair  disadvantage,  "but  he 
hasn't  paid  me  yet.  Of  course,  if  you  want  to  take 
over  his  meter " 

The  Princess  gasped  as  it  came  over  her  that  she 
was  running  away  with  the  entire  residue  of  Bill's 
three  thousand  dollars.  The  theft  of  the  dune- 
bug's  nuts  and  the  judge's  bananas  was  one  thing, 
but  stealing  a  matter  of  eighteen  hundred  dollars. . . 

She  sat  erect  again  with  one  last  spurt  of  deter- 
mination. "I  don't  care!"  she  cried.  "Yes;  of 
course  I'll  take  it!  I've  got  money  enough  in  my 
pocket  to  buy  your  silly  cab!  Don't  talk.  Drive — 
drive  as  fast  as  you  can !" 


CHAPTER  XX 


THE  PRINCESS  SKIDS 


BUT  the  apprehension  of  pursuit,  under  which 
she  fled  from  the  Httle  city  which  was  not 
Crown  Point,  was  unfounded.  Uncle  Sergius  might 
gnash  his  teeth  when  he  learned  what  had  become 
of  the  three  thousand  dollars  his  nephew  had  carried 
away  from  Orchestra  Hall  the  afternoon  before,  but 
he  was  too  busy,  just  now,  to  attempt  to  do  anything 
about  it.  On  this  ride  there  was  no  need  for  the 
Princess  to  sit  on  the  little  folding  seat  and  keep  a 
lookout  astern. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  her  adventure  was  much 
nearer  over  than  she  supposed.  Indeed,  there  wasn't 
much  more  than  an  hour  between  the  moment  when 
she  kissed  Bill  goodbye  and  the  one  when  she  was 
pitched — almost  literally  pitched — into  Walter  Pat- 
rick's lap. 

A  violent  summer  thunderstorm  was  really  the 

283 


284  REAL  LIFE 

decisive  factor  in  this  denouement.  It  burst  upon 
them  just  as  they  were  making  a  forced  detour  from 
the  main  road,  which  was  under  repair.  There  was 
a  stretch  of  clayey  loam  in  this  substitute  route  to 
which  the  rain,  even  after  it  had  ceased,  gave  a  mir- 
rorHke  glaze,  so  that  the  single  pair  of  ruts  exactly 
in  the  middle  afforded  the  only  practicable  footing. 

It  was  just  here  that  the  yellow  taxi,  north 
bound,  met  a  heavy  touring-car  coming  south. 
Both  chauffeurs  had  trouble  climbing  out  of  the 
ruts  and  both  had  to  set  brakes  abruptly,  with  the 
result  that  both  cars  skidded,  the  taxi  turning  clean 
around  with  a  waltzlike  movement  into,  as  it  were, 
the  embrace  of  the  other  car.  They  locked  together 
with,  indeed,  a  certain  splintering  of  spokes  and 
crumpling  of  fenders,  yet  rather  gently  withal,  and; 
as  one,  slid  down  into  the  bank. 

The  chauffeur  of  the  taxi,  hearing  his  door  flung 
open  just  at  the  beginning  of  this  maneuver,  had 
screamed  at  the  Princess  not  to  jump.  But  he  had 
misread  her  intention.  The  only  danger  present  in 
the  Princess's  mind  was  that  the  friend  whom  she 
had  recognized  in  the  other  car  might  go  straight 
on  past  without  seeing  her,  and  she  held  the  door 
open  while   she  excitedly  called  and   repeated  his 


THE  PRINCESS  SKIDS  285 

name.  And  she  couldn't  herself  have  told  how  much 
of  the  propulsive  force  which  shot  her  over  into  the 
other  car,  and  more  or  less  into  Walter  Patrick's  lap, 
was  due  to  the  jolt  with  which  both  cars  brought  up 
against  the  bank,  and  how  much  was  due  to  her  own 
initiative. 

However,  there  was  no  occasion  for  inquiry  into 
this  matter.  The  way  he  cried  out,  "Princess! 
Thank  God !"  and  then  simply  hugged  her,  was  com- 
pletely satisfactory. 

The  manifestation  wasn't  more  than  momentary. 
He  let  go  of  her  all  at  once,  blushed  to  the  hair  and 
essayed  a  more  ceremonious  manner.  It  was  a  piece 
of  such  inconceivable  good  fortune,  he  explained, 
finding  her  like  this,  that  he  was  afraid  he  had  rather 
forgotten  the  proprieties. 

Adroitly  the  Princess  changed  the  subject. 

"Just  look  at  those  two  chauffeurs,  will  you?" 
she  observed.  "They  both  think  we're  perfectly 
crazy." 

And  indeed  it  was  safe  to  suppose  that  in  all 
their  rather  wide  experience  neither  of  them  had 
seen  two  victims  of  a  road  accident  take  it  just  like 
this.  The  victims  now  laughed  and  proceeded  to 
forget  all  about  them. 


286  REAL  LIFE 

"But  you're  alone,  Princess?"  Patrick  inquired. 
"You  haven't  got  Boris  Lazaref  tucked  away  in  that 
taxicab  anywhere,  have  you  ?" 

She  shook  her  head  rather  soberly. 

"His  uncle's  got  him  now,"  she  said.  "And  I 
guess  that's  the  best  way  for  it  to  have  happened. 
I'm  sure  it  is  for  me."  After  a  momentary  silence 
she  went  on.  "I'm  going  to  tell  you  something.  I 
didn't  want  to  marry  him,  but  I  nearly  did,  even 
after  I'd  telephoned  to  you,  because  they  came  and 
told  me  he  was  in  jail  and  it  seemed  to  be  the  only 
way  to  get  him  out.  We  were  up  in  the  judge's 
room  waiting  for  the  county  clerk  to  make  out  the 
license  when  his  uncle  came,  in  this  yellow  taxi,  and 
I  went  down  the  fire-escape."  She  added  anxiously, 
"You  see  how  it  was,  don't  you  ?" 

But  this  was  less  a  literal  question  than  a  plea 
for  tolerance.  His  expression  of  total  bewilderment 
made  it  plain  that  he  didn't  see  at  all. 

"It's  only,"  he  explained,  "that  I  don't  under- 
stand just  how  it  could  have  happened.  Why  did 
they  put  him  in  jail?  His  uncle  had  been  waiting 
there  for  the  pair  of  you  to  show  up  ever  since  eight 
o'clock  this  morning.  And  the  whole  of  Crown 
Point  has  been  swarming  with  reporters  for  hours.'* 


THE  PRINCESS  SKIDS  287 

"But  we  weren't  in  Crown  Point  at  all,"  she 
explained.  "I  thought  we  were,  when  I  telephoned, 
because  the  place  had  a  courthouse  where  people 
could  get  married,  but  it  was  another  town  alto- 
gether." 

Then,  seeing  that  she  had  simply  astounded  him 
with  this  small  matter  of  fact,  she  asked,  "But  what 
difference  does  that  make  ?" 

He  shook  that  question  off  like  the  mere  buzz- 
ing of  a  fly. 

"Princess,"  he  demanded,  "have  you  talked  to 
any  newspaper  people  at  all  ?  Or  to  anyone  else  who 
would  be  absolutely  sure  that  it  was  really  you  and 
not  somebody  pretending  to  be  ?  Has  anyone  photo- 
graphed you  during  the  last  twenty-four  hours?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of,"  she  said  in  answer  to  the 
last  question,  the  others  having  been  disposed  of  by 
a  mere  shake  of  the  head. 

Then,  her  gaze  becoming  intent,  she  asked, 
"What  were  the  reporters  in  Crown  Point  for? 
They  couldn't  have  been  waiting  for  me,  because 
how  could  they  have  known  I  meant  to  go  there? 
It  couldn't  be . . .  Walter,  is  it  in  the  papers  already — 
about  my  running  away  with  Bill  ?  Have  they  been 
— horrid  about  it  ?" 


288  REAL  LIFE 

"Oh,  the  Tribune  carried  a  story  this  morning," 
he  said.  "We'll  have  to  try  to  get  hold  of  a  copy  for 
you  to  see/' 

But  the  nonchalance  of  tliat  was  just  a  hair's 
breadth  overdone.  She  looked  away  from  him  and 
for  a  moment  pressed  the  back  of  her  hand  against 
her  lips  to  steady  them.  The  question  she  wanted  to 
ask  wasn't  easy  to  frame  either. 

"Is  it.  .  ."  she  began,  then  tried  again.  "Had  I 
better  go  back  and  find  Bill  now  and  marry  him, 
anyway  ?    Is  it  as  horrible  as  that  ?" 

He  laughed  raggedly.  Intending  to  reassure 
her,  it  was  as  if  he  had  found  some  reassurance  for 
himself  in  the  mere  form  of  the  question. 

It  was  a  relief  to  both  of  them  that  the  two 
chauffeurs  now  emerged  from  the  mud  ready  to 
report  on  the  condition  of  the  two  cars.  The  taxi 
was  undamaged  except  for  its  crumpled  fender  and 
a  smashed  door.  All  it  needed  was  a  little  jacking 
and  prying  to  set  it  free  and  it  could  go  on  to  Chi- 
cago. The  touring-car  with  a  splintered  rear  wheel 
couldn't  safely  run  under  its  own  power  until  it  had 
been  provided  with  a  new  one.  Patrick,  who  had 
climbed  down  into  the  road  where  matters  could  be 
pointed  out  to  him,  could  see  this  for  himself.    The 


THE  PRINCESS  SKIDS  289 

nearest  farm,  a  few  minutes'  walk  up  the  road, 
could  no  doubt  provide  a  team  to  haul  it  out  of  the 
ditch  and  a  roof  of  some  sort  to  shelter  it  under  until 
temporary  repairs  could  be  made. 

The  obvious  course  for  the  two  passengers  was 
to  take  the  taxi  into  Chicago.  But  this,  after  two  or 
three  minutes  of  reflection,  Patrick  seemed  inclined 
not  to  do. 

"Do  you  want  to  leave  it  to  me.  Princess?"  he 
asked,  suddenly  looking  up  at  her  across  the  taxi. 

"Oh,  yes!"  she  said  with  an  explosive  sigh.  "I 
want  to  leave  everything  to  you." 

"Good!"  he  said  with  a  nod.  "We'll  walk  to 
the  farmhouse  and  have  them  send  back  a  team  for 
my  car.  And," — he  turned  to  the  taxi  chauffeur — 
"we'll  pay  you  off  now." 

But  this  wasn't  quite  so  easy  as  it  looked.  The 
young  man,  passionately  protesting  his  complete  in- 
difference as  to  what  they  did  or  he  did  or  anybody 
did,  firmly  declined  at  the  same  time  to  be  dismissed. 
Miss  Swan  was  his  rightful  and  legal  passenger. 
She'd  engaged  him  to  take  her  to  the  Congress  Hotel 
and  he  intended  to  do  so. 

"If  we  pay  you  for  taking  her  to  the  Congress 
Hotel   that'll   be   satisfactory,   won't   it?"   Patrick 


2go  REAL  LIFE 

asked  pleasantly,  for  it  was  not  his  way  to  quarrel 
with  people,    "How  much  will  that  be?" 

The  young  man  consulted  his  meter  and  two  or 
three  crumpled  memoranda  extracted  from  his 
trousers  pocket.  He  made  some  calculations  with 
the  stub  of  a  pencil  and  at  last,  with  a  touch  of  de- 
fiance, announced  his  result : — eighty-four  dollars 
and  seventy-five  cents. 

The  Princess  saw  a  look  of  blank  distress  come 
into  Walter  Patrick's  face,  and  made  a  swift  guess 
at  the  cause.  He  wasn't,  most  likely,  in  the  habit  of 
carrying  large  sums  of  money  around  with  him,  and 
in  his  haste  to  come  to  her  he  had  set  out  without 
being  especially  munitioned  in  this  respect.  It  was 
even  conceivable  that  some  difficulty  had  been  made 
about  it  and  he  had  come  to  her  simply  on  his  own. 

She  nodded  him  a  smile,  and  saying,  "Leave  it 
to  me,  Walter;  I'll  fix  it,"  she  rather  decisively  ex- 
cluded him  from  the  confab  with  the  chauffeur  by 
inviting  that  young  man,  with  a  gesture,  to  the  run- 
ning-board of  the  touring-car.  From  her  vanity- 
case,  where  she  had  stowed  Bill's  eighteen  hundred 
dollars,  she  took  out  a  hundred-dollar  bill  and 
pressed  it  into  his  hands, 

"You  needn't  bother  about  the  change,"  she  said. 


THE  PRINCESS  SKIDS  291 

"That'll  do  for  a  tip,  won't  it?    And  I'm  very  much 
obliged." 

He  unfolded  the  bill,  gazed  at  it  reflectively  on 
both  sides  and  then,  shaking  his  head,  offered  to 
hand  it  back  to  her. 

"Look  here,  Miss  Swan,"  he  said,  "you  come 
along  back  with  me.  We'll  make  it  right  when  we 
get  to  the  hotel  That's  the  best  thing  for  you  to  do. 
You've  been  trapesing  around  the  country  long 
enough.  It's  a  good  thing  you  got  rid  of  that  other 
gink,  but  you  don't  want  to  hook  up  with  this  one 
just  because  I  happened  to  skid  you  into  him.  You 
think  it  over  and  come  along  with  me." 

"Who,"  the  Princess  demanded,  with  a  gasp, — 
**who  do  you  suppose  this — gink  is  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  the  chauffeur  retorted  violently, 
"and  I  don't  care.  I  know  I'll  get  you  safe  home  to 
your  folks  and  I  don't  know  whether  he  will  or  not. 
But  if  he  thinks  I'm  going  to  turn  you  over  to  him 
for  any  hundred  dollars  he  can  guess  again.'* 

The  Princess,  as  you  may  have  observed,  was 
never  addicted  to  half  measures;  and  this,  perhaps, 
was  not  the  moment  for  them. 

"It  happens,"  she  observed  with  splendid,  icy 
mendacity,  "that  he's  my  husband !" 


292  REAL  LIFE 

The  chauffeur  stared  at  her,  crumpled  the  hun- 
dred-dollar bill  and  shoved  it  into  his  pocket. 

"I  guess  you  movie  queens  are  too  swift  for 
George!"  he  said,  and  went  in  ruins,  out  of  the 
Princess's  life. 

She  wasn't  sure,  when  she  and  Patrick  set  out 
through  the  wet  grass  at  the  roadside  to  the  farm- 
house, whether  or  not  he  had  overheard  her  explana- 
tion to  the  chauffeur.  Partly  by  way  of  creating  a 
diversion  and  partly  because  she  wanted  to  transfer 
all  her  worries  to  him  as  expeditiously  as  possible, 
she  took  the  rest  of  Bill's  money  out  of  her  case  and 
handed  it  over  to  Patrick,  telling  him  what  it  was 
and  how  she  had  come  by  it. 

"Do  you  suppose  his  uncle  could  have  me  ar- 
rested for  stealing  it  like  that?"  she  asked.  — "I 
wish,"  she  went  on  after  he  had  told  her  not  to 
worry  about  it,  "that  mother  would  pay  the  whole 
of  it  back — the  whole  three  thousand,  I  mean,  and 
not  just  this.  I  think  Bill's  uncle  would  be  more 
likely  to  forgive  him  if  she  did.  And  maybe  he'd 
be  more  likely  to  forgive  me."  Then  with  a  sigh: 
"But  of  course  she  won't.  She'll  be  so  i>erfectly 
furious  with  me  for  having  run  away  that  I  wouldn't 
even  dare  ask  her." 


THE  PRINCESS  SKIDS  293 

Indeed  it  frightened  her  just  to  be  talking  about 
her  mother  Hke  this  to  anybody,  even  to  Walter 
Patrick. 

"Of  course,"  she  went  on,  for  he  made  no  imme- 
diate reply,  "if  she  did  pay  back  the  whole  three 
thousand  dollars  then  the  cottage  would  belong  to 
us,  wouldn't  it?  It's  the  darlingest  little  thing  you 
ever  saw.  I  thought  of  you  the  minute  I  saw  it. 
I'm  sure  you  could  write  a  picture  around  it.  And 
then — well — I  don't  suppose  I  ever  could  go  travel- 
ing around  in  it  with — anybody,  out  into  the  desert 
or  down  to  the  seashore,  but  it  would  be  nice  to 
think  about" 

"Princess,"  Patrick  burst  out  at  the  end  of  a 
rather  long  silence,  just,  indeed,  as  he  was  laying  his 
hand  upon  the  farmyard  gate;  "Princess,  I  don't 
believe  there's  anything  unfair  about  saying  this  to 
you.  In  fact,  I  think  the  unfairness  would  be  the 
other  way.  Don't  you  know  that  you  can  pay  that 
money  back  to  the  Lazarefs  if  you  want  to,  whether 
your  mother  agrees  to  it  or  not?" 

She  clutched  the  gate  with  both  hands,  holding 
it  shut  while  she  stared  blankly  into  his  face. 

"But,"  she  said,  " — ^but,  Walter,  I  haven't  any 
money  of  my  own,  except  my  allowance — have  I  ?" 


294  ^^    REAL  LIFE 

"Why,  you  poor  child/'  he  said,  "you're  per- 
fectly enormously,  inhumanly  rich.  It's  all  yours, 
every  dollar  of  it,  and  it's  been  yours  to  dispose  of 
ever  since  you  came  of  age.  You've  given  your 
mother  power  of  attorney,  I  suppose,  so  that  she  can 
go  on  taking  care  of  it  for  you,  but  that's  purely  for 
your  own  convenience.  All  you  have  to  do  to  get 
any  amount  of  money  you  want  is  to  keep  a  check- 
book of  your  own." 

At  that,  oddly  enough,  she  put  her  head  down 
upon  her  hands,  which  still  clutched  the  top  rail  of 
the  gate,  and  began  to  cry.  It  seemed  silly  to  cry, 
and  unkind  as  well,  because  he,  she  could  feel,  was 
reduced  to  a  state  of  utter  consternation  by  it 

"I  guess  it's  just  because  I'm  so  tired  and  hun- 
gry !"  she  sobbed.  But  it  was  only  a  minute  or  two 
before  she  got  herself  together  and  opened  the  gate. 
"You  see/'  she  explained,  "I  haven't  really  eaten  a 
square  meal  since  we  left  New  York.  On  the  train 
and  there  in  the  hotel  in  Chicago  I  was  so  excited 
planning  to  run  away  that  I  couldn't."  This  was  of 
course  literally  true. 

She  was  too  tired  even  to  try  to  think,  but  she 
was  accessible  to  the  comforting  sensation  of  being 
once  more  the  Princess,  with  no  more  decisions  to 


THE  PRINCESS  SKIDS  295 

make,  no  more  difficulties  to  struggle  with.  Wal- 
ter would  look  after  everything. 

He  did.  He  made  some  sort  of  explanation — 
she  didn't  even  listen — to  the  farmer's  wife.  He 
made  a  wholehearted  ally  of  the  farmer's  daughter,  a 
big,  nice-looking  girl,  rather  incredible  from  the  fact 
that  she  neither  spoke  nor  dressed  the  way  farmers' 
daughters  of  the  Princess's  acquaintance — on  the 
screen — always  did. 

There  was  a  delightful  stir  of  activity  in  the  in- 
terest of  the  Princess's  comfort  A  wonderful  meal 
was  cooked — ^ham  and  eggs,  a  bowl  of  milk  toast,  a 
cup  of  chocolate — and  at  the  conclusion  of  it  she 
was  in  good  part  undressed  and  put  to  bed  with  a 
hot-water  bottle,  a  pair  of  fleece-lined  slippers  and 
a  pretty  pink  bathrobe  left  handy  against  her  waking 
and  wanting  to  get  up. 

Walter  Patrick  had  remained^ in  the  background 
during  these  ministrations,  consulting  with  the 
farmer,  the  chauffeur  and  so  on.  But  she  was  per- 
fectly aware  of  him  as  the  inspiration  of  them. 

"After  all,"  she  told  herself,  just  as  she  was 
dropping  off,  "if  it  hadn't  been  for  him  I  never 
would  have  run  away  in  the  first  place." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  RETURN  OF  THE  PRINCESS 

IT  WAS  getting  on  in  the  afternoon  when  Patrick 
sent  in  Genevieve,  the  farmer's  good-looking 
daughter,  to  ask  if  he  might  see  her  presently — any- 
time within  a  half-hour  would  be  soon  enough. 

Oddly  enough,  this  ambassadorial  approach 
frightened  her  a  little;  reminded  her  rather  grimly 
of  the  days  of  long  ago — that  was  how  it  seemed, 
though  yesterday  had  begun  as  one  of  them.  She 
thought  he  might  have  banged  on  the  door  and 
shouted  to  her  to  get  up  and  dress  and  come  along 
if  that  vras  what  he  wanted.  She  played  up  to  his 
new-old  manner,  however,  by  telling  Genevieve  she 
would  receive  him  in  fifteen  minutes  and  asking  the 
girl  to  come  back,  after  she  had  delivered  this  mes- 
sage, to  help  her  get  ready  for  him. 

They  staged  the  scene  rather  carefully,  and,  with 
the  aid  of  a  straight-backed  armchair  (backed  into 

296 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  PRINCESS     297 

the  bay  window,  opposite  to  and  facing  the  door), 
the  pretty  pink  bathrobe  and  an  eiderdown  quilt, 
produced  an  effect  rather  suggestive,  the  Princess 
thought,  of  a  royal  levee. 

Genevieve  was  accorded  the  ecstatic  privilege  of 
brushing  the  Princess's  hair — you  know  all  about 
that  hair,  of  course,  so  you  don't  need  a  description 
of  it! — ^and  with  the  help  of  its  proprietor  got  a 
formal-looking,  though  not  very  substantial,  "do" 
on  it,  which  helped  out  the  picture. 

She  meant  Walter  to  get  the  full  effect  of  this, 
and  she  was  glad,  in  a  way,  to  be  able  to  read  in  his 
face  the  moment  he  opened  the  door  that  he  did. 
Yet  it  gave  her  an  odd  sort  of  pain  in  the  heart  the 
way  he  halted  just  inside  and  bowed  to  her  from 
clear  across  the  room,  and  when  she  caught  in  his 
eyes  a  glint  of  that  look,  compounded  half  of  amuse- 
ment and  half  of  pity,  which  once  had  so  profoundly 
perplexed  her,  she  was  divided  between  the  impulses 
to  laugh  and  to  cry. 

But  she  did  neither.  This  sort  of  thing  was  what 
he  had  invited,  and  this,  for  the  present,  was  what  he 
should  have. 

She  did  invite  him  to  have  a  chair,  and  a  little 


298  REAL  LIFE 

dubiously  he  pulled  one  up  facing"  her,  perhaps  a 
couple  of  yards  away,  and  sat  down. 

He  was  sorry,  he  began  by  saying,  to  have  been 
obliged  to  cut  short  her  nap,  especially  as  there  was 
still  time  to  spare  before  beginning  to  carry  out  the 
plans  he  had  tentatively  made.  But  with  the  possi- 
bility in  view  that  she  might  wish  to  revise  them,  or 
perhaps  reject  them  altogether,  he  had  thought  it 
better  to  take  them  up  with  her  now. 

She  assured  him  that  she  felt  perfectly  rested  and 
restored  and  quite  ready  to  hear  about  his  plans. 

It  was  at  this  point  that  Genevieve,  who  was  not 
only  a  nice  girl  but  a  good  bit  of  a  heroine,  offered 
household  duties  as  her  excuse  and  left  them  alone. 
Patrick,  directly  he  began  to  talk,  shifted  his  chair 
a  little  and  looked  fixedly  out  of  the  window. 

He  had  made  his  plans,  he  said,  with  reference 
to  the  newspapers.  The  story  in  the  morning  paper 
had  sounded  rather  cruel,  from  the  jocular  and  al- 
most derisive  tone  in  which  it  had  been  written. 
Certainly  in  their  frantic  anxiety  about  her  it  had 
stung  like  a  whip. 

**I  came  to  see  that  they  had  played  it  like  that/' 
he  went  on,  "as  a  hedge,  from  a  misgiving  that  the 
thing  might  turn  out  to  be  some  sort  of  gigantic 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  PRINCESS     299 

hoax.  It  was  largely  my  fault  that  they  took  it  that 
way;  for  I  refused,  in  spite  of  the  others,  either 
to  give  out  anything  to  the  reporters  or  to 
report  your  disappearance  to  the  police,  which  of 
course  would  have  been  the  same  thing.  I  didn't 
deny  an3rthing,  nor  invent  anything;  simply  stuck  to 
it  that  we  had  nothing  to  say.  If  you  had  been  car- 
ried off  either  by  force  or  by  seduction . . .  But  I 
had  a  sort  of  bed-rock  confidence,  based  on  a  belief 
that  I  knew  you,  somehow,  better  than  any  of  them, 
that  neither  of  those  things  had  happened  to  you. 
Of  course,  when  the  whole  night  passed  and  the 
morning.  .  ." 

He  broke  off  there  Just  in  time  to  save  her  from 
breaking  down  altogether  and  went  on  in  a  manner 
much  more  endurable. 

"Well,  as  things  have  fallen  out,  that  line  of 
mine  leaves  us  a  loophole,  if  you  care  to  take  it, 
Princess.  You  didn't  go  to  Crown  Point,  where 
they  were  all  looking  for  you.  You  didn't  get  pho- 
tographed and  you  didn't  sign  your  name  to  any- 
thing. And  the  story  is  nothing,  in  consequence,  but 
a  series  of  prodigious  and  rather  incredible  rumors. 

"On  the  strength  of  that  fact  this  is  what  I  have 
arranged.    The  order  for  the  private  car  has  never 


300  REAL  LIFE 

been  canceled  and  your  whole  Chicago  party,  includ- 
ing your  mother,  are  going  to  go  down  and  get  on 
it  in  the  Santa  Fe  yards  this  evening  exactly  as  if 
you  were  with  them,  and  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
It  will  be  attached  to  the  limited  when  it  pulls  out. 

"I  have  arranged  with  Mr.  Stokes — he's  the  man 
who  owns  this  farm — to  drive  us  over  in  his  Ford 
this  evening  to  Joliet — it's  only  a  little  more  than 
thirty  miles;  and  when  the  limited  makes  its  stop 
there  you'll  get  on.  No  one  will  see  you  or  be  look- 
ing for  you.  And  when  the  train  gets  to  Los  Ange- 
les, the  same  train  it's  been  announced  all  along  you 
were  going  to  take,  you'll  get  off  with  the  others. 
Holden  [he  was  the  head  press  agent  for  Leda 
Swan,  Incorporated]  will  give  out  tonight  a  pub- 
licity story  that  you've  been  out  personally  to  look 
over  a  location  and  buy  some  properties  for  a 
picture. 

"If  that's  done  in  the  right  way,  I  think  the  story 
of  your  having  run  away  with  Lazaref  or  anyone 
else  will  go  up  in  its  own  smoke.  Everybody  who 
likes  to  think  of  himself  as  a  sophisticated  and  in- 
credulous person — and  that  is  about  nine  out  of 
every  ten  inhabitants  of  the  United  States — will 
believe  the  whole  thing  was  a  plant  and  that  we've 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  PRINCESS     301 

stung  the  newspapers  for  about  a  million  dollars' 
worth  of  free  advertising.  They  may  regard  it  as  a 
rather  unscrupulous  piece  of  business  on  the  part  of 
your  staff,  and  very  likely  as  a  little  cruel  to  you, 
but  there  won't  be — I  think  you  can  really  count  on 
this,  Princess — one  single  smallest  spatter  of  mud 
that  will  stick  to  you." 

She'd  taken  advantage  of  the  fact  that  her  face 
was  in  shadow  to  watch  his  pretty  intently  through 
all  this,  and  she  hadn't  interrupted  once.  Even  now 
that  he  had  finished  she  remained  silent.  After  a 
moment  he  got  up  restlessly  and  went  to  the 
window. 

"So,"  he  concluded,  "if  that's  along  the  general 
lines  of  what  you  want  to  do,  I'd  recommend  it  as 
the  best  way  of  doing  it." 

She  said  then,  rather  petulantly,  "I  don't  suppose 
there's  anything  else  that  I  can  do,  is  there  ?" 

What  he  said  wasn't  an  answer,  but  it  startled 
her  half  out  of  her  chair. 

"I've  bought  the  cottage  for  you,  Princess. 
That's  to  say,  I  told  Lazaref  that  you  wanted  it  and 
that  you'll  send  him  a  check  for  the  whole  three 
thousand  dollars." 

"But — but,"  she  stammered,  "how  could  you  do 


3Q2  REAL  LIFE 

that?  You  haven't  seen  him,  have  you?  He's  not 
here?'' 

"No;  he's  not  here,"  Patrick  said,  "but  I  man- 
aged to  find  out  where  he  was  and  I  talked  with  him 
over  the  telephone.  I  know  where  he  is  now  and 
where  his  nephew  is,  so  that  if  you  want  to  talk  to 
him,  or  see  him  again — the  boy,  I  mean — why,  it 
can  be  managed/* 

Her  answer  now  startled  him.  She  spoke  dis- 
passionately enough,  but  her  words  were  intense 
with  cold  conviction.  "I  wish  someone  would  shoot 
his  uncle." 

He  cried  out  some  sort  of  protest  at  that,  and 
the  Princess  went  on  to  explain.  "I  think  it's 
wicked  that  anyone  should  be  as  afraid  of  anybody 
as  poor  Bill  is  of  that  man.  You  can't  blame  Bill,  of 
course.  It's  gone  on  ever  since  he  was  a  little  boy. 
[Why,  he  began  giving  concerts,  he  says,  when  he 
was  six  years  old.  He's  never  had  any  fun — never 
done  anything  but  work  to  make  his  uncle  big  and 
rich  and  important  And  the  way  his  uncle  must 
have  treated  him  1 . . . .  Why,  he  screamed  Just  at 
the  sound  of  his  uncle's  voice  talking  Russian  to  the 
chauffeur  of  the  other  taxi.  — T  simply  couldn't 
bear  it,  so  I  tried  to  help  him  run  away.     I'd  have 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  PRINCESS     303 

done  anything  to  get  him  away.  I  was  even  going 
to  marry  him  until  I  saw  it  wouldn't  do  any  good. 
— Do  you  suppose  he's — killing  him  now  ?  Walter, 
his  eyes,  when  that  horrible  man  was  after  us,  were 
just  like  a  little  cocker  spaniel's  that  we  used  to  have, 
when  mother  was  going  to  whip  him  for  having  run 
off.  And  I  had  to  go  away  and  leave  him.  He  was 
too  frightened  to  come  down  the  fire-escape  with 
me. 

Walter  came  around  behind  her  chair  and  took  a 
steadying  hold  of  her  shoulders.  "I  don't  believe 
he's  getting  beaten.  Princess,"  he  said,  comfortingly. 
"The  uncle  sounded  calm  enough  when  I  talked  with 
him  over  the  'phone;  and  really  quite  amiable  when 
I  said  we'd  pay  the  three  thousand  dollars.  I 
shouldn't  be  surprised  if  he'd  learned  his  lesson  from 
this  rebellion  of  his  nephew's."  He  paused  there 
and  took  his  hands  away.  "I  even  believe  he'd  con- 
sent," he  went  on,  "to  your  seeing  the  boy  again  this 
afternoon,  if  that's  what  you  want  to  do." 

The  Princess  was  aware  of  no  logical  reason  for 
bursting  into  tears  at  this  point,  but  this,  neverthe- 
less, was  what  she  did-  She  knew  the  reason  was 
not  the  one  which  Patrick  naturally  enough  assigned 
to  the  phenomenon,  and  all  his  rather  panicky  at- 


304  REAL  LIFE 

tempts  to  comfort  her,  his  promises  to  produce  Bill 
at  once  and  so  on,  went  down,  of  course,  the  wrong 
way.  She  managed  at  last  to  be  coherent  enough  to 
correct,  in  one  exasperated  outburst,  this  misappre- 
hension of  his. 

"What  do  you  want  to  make  me  go  back  to  Bill 
for?"  she  cried.  "I  don't  want  to  see  him  again! — 
I  wish  you'd  go  away  yourself,  and  let  me  alone!" 

But  this  last  wish  was  not  genuine,  for  she 
stopped  him  on  the  way  to  the  door  with  the  queS" 
tion,  "What  made  you  think  I  wanted  to  go  back 
to  him?" 

"Why,"  he  said,  "I  thought  you  must  have 
cared  for  him  a  whole  lot  or  you  wouldn't  have  run 
away  with  him  in  the  first  place." 

"But  I  didn't  run  away  with  him,"  she  declared. 
"I'd  never  seen  him  nor  heard  of  him  when  I  ran 
away.  I  didn't  even  know  who  he  was  until  this 
morning,  out  on  the  dunes,  when  he  told  me." 

His  look  of  complete  incredulous  bewilderment 
goaded  her  a  little  farther. 

"If  you  want  to  know  why  I  ran  away — I  ran 
away  because  of  you ;  because," — the  words  caught 
on  a  sob  and  then  came  out  in  a  rush — "because  you 
were  always  laughing  at  me." 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  PRINCESS     305 

He  wilted  at  that,  leaned  back  against  the  door, 
his  hand  on  the  knob,  and  gazed  at  her  with  a  look 
that  reminded  her  a  little  of  Bill.  After  a  breathless 
silence  he  said  simply,  in  a  voice  that  brought  the 
tears  back  into  her  own  eyes : 

"I'm  sorry,  Princess.'* 

And  presently,  before  she  could  make  any  reply 
to  that,  he  added,  "Well,  that's  a  trouble  you're  go- 
ing to  be  delivered  from.  When  you  get  on  the 
train  at  Joliet  you'll  have  seen  the  last  of  me." 

"Don't  be  silly,"  she  commanded.  "I  didn't 
mean  you  laughed  at  me  in  a  horrid  way.  You 
didn't  laugh,  either,  exactly.  You  smiled,  as  if  you 
were  sorry  for  me.  As  if  you  thought  I  was  a  sort 
of  poor  little — beggar-girl  you  wanted  to  be  kind  to. 
It  made  me  wonder  if  I  was.  I  thought  I'd  like 
to  get  away  where  I  wasn't  Leda  Swan  for  a  little 
while,  and  see  what — what  real  life  was  like.  Well, 
I  have  all  right!"  she  concluded,  subsiding  into  her 
chair  again. 

"I  was  sorry  for  you,"  he  said.  (Could  it  be 
possible,  she  wondered,  that  the  brightness  in  his 
eyes  was  tears?)  "I  never  suspected,  of  course, 
that  you'd  guess.  No  one  would  have  guessed  but 
you.     I  thought  about  you,  don't  you  see,  a  little 


3o6  REAL  LIFE 

the  way  you've  been  thinking  about  Bill:  as  some- 
one whose  childhood  had  been  stolen  from  her, 
someone  whose  magnificence  and  celebrity  did  oth- 
ers more  good  than  they  did  her.  I  shouldn't  have 
felt  that  way  if  only  I'd  had  penetration  enough 
to  see  what  a  brave  little  adventurer  you  were, 
tinder  all  the  coronation  robes  and  so  on.  And  I'll 
never  feel  that  way  about  you  again,  Princess.  I'll 
be  permanently  happier  about  you  for  having  had 
this  one  good  look  at  what  you  really  are.  I  shall 
remember  you  here,  in  this  farmhouse." 

"Remember  me!"  she  repeated,  sitting  erect 
again  and  suddenly  tense.  "You  didn't  nieaiyi  what 
you  said  just  now — about  not  coming  to  Hollywood 
with  me!" 

"That  was  serious  enough,"  he  told  her.  "I 
meant  to  keep  it  dark,  but  you  surprised  it  out  of 
me.     Your  mother  discharged  me  this  afternoon." 

"What  did  she  do  that  for?"  the  Princess 
demanded. 

"Oh,  I  left  her  no  alternative,"  he  confessed. 
*'You  see,  we  disagreed  categorically  about  my 
plans.  She  wanted  you  brought  straight  into  Chi- 
cago at  once;  and,  failing  that,  she  wanted  to  come 
straight  down  to  you  here.     The  only  reason  she 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  PRINCESS     307 

didn't  was  because  I  refused  to  tell  her  where  you 
were.  I  took  advantage  of  my  strategic  position, 
you  see,  to  make  them  carry  the  thing  out  exactly 
as  I  wanted  it  done.  I  did  it  in  good  faith,  of 
course,  because  I'm  absolutely  sure  it's  the  only 
clean  way  out.  But  your  mother  regards  me  quite 
simply  as  a  kidnapper." 

The  Princess  indulged  herself  in  a  reflective 
silence.  Finally  she  asked  whether  it  had  really 
been  true,  what  he  had  told  her  out  there  at  the 
gate,  about  her  having  the  disposal  of  her  own 
money?  And,  pursuing  the  topic  a  little  farther, 
how  much  authority  in  other  directions  had  she? 
Was  she  really,  as  his  answers  seemed  to  imply,  the 
boss  of  the  whole  show? 

She  saw  that  he  was  parting  with  this  series  of 
affirmative  admissions  rather  reluctantly  and  with, 
to  her,  meaningless  qualifications. 

"Why  do  you  keep  saying  'technically  ?'  What 
do  you  mean  by  that  ?  And  'legally,'  and  'theoretic- 
ally,' and  all  the  rest  of  it?  Either  I  am  the  boss 
or  I  am  not !" 

But  he  tried  absurdly  to  deny  this  axiom.  In 
real  life  it  didn't  work  out  that  way.  You  could 
boss  only  as  much  as  your  experience  and  resolu- 


3o8  REAL  LIFE 

tion  enabled  you  to  command.  And  to  boss  an  im- 
mense institution  like  Leda  Swan,  Incorporated, 
required  not  only  those  qualities  but  an  unremit- 
ting diligence  as  well. 

"Look  at  your  mother,"  he  concluded.  "She's 
a  marvelous  woman.  She  has  perfectly  Napoleonic 
ideas.  And  think  how  hard  she's  had  to  work  for 
all  these  years." 

"Poor  old  mother!"  sighed  the  Princess.  "She 
has  worked  hard,  hasn't  she?  I  think  it's  time 
she  had  a  vacation.  I'm  glad  she  discharged  you 
this  afternoon,"  she  went  on,  with  just  a  flicker  of 
light  in  her  eyes,  "because  I  want  to  engage  you 
myself — to  be  my  manager." 

"I  had  an  idea  that  was  what  you  were  getting 
at,"  he  said.  "And  I'm  deeply  pleased  that  you 
thought  of  it,  because  it  shows  you've  forgiven  me 
for  making  you  run  away.  But  of  course  it 
wouldn't  do.  Princess.  I  think  you're  right  in 
wanting  somebody  in  that  capacity,  but  you  don't 
want  me." 

"I'd  like  to  know  why  not!"  she  said.  She 
turned  away  from  him  as  she  spoke  and  looked  out 
the  window. 

"I  think  you  do  know  why  not,"  he  told  her. 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  PRINCESS      309 

"In  the  first  place,  I'm  not  a  managerial  person, 
exactly.  But  we  don't  have  to  argue  that.  I'm  not 
eligible  for  the  job  because  I'm  not  disinterested. 
If  I  took  it  I'd  be  just  about  what  your  mother  at 
this  moment  thinks  I  am.  Look  at  the  sequence  of 
events.  She  discharges  me  for  what  appears  to  her 
good  cause  and  I  take  advantage  of  the  fact  that 
I've  got  you  hidden  away  here  where  she  can't 
come  to  you  and  advise  you,  to — well  incite  you  to 
rebel  against  her  authority.  I  tell  you  you're  your 
own  boss  and  your  first  act  as  boss  is  to  hire  me 
back  in  a  better  position  than  I  had  before.  It 
would  be  perfectly  good  proof,  if  I  let  you  do  that, 
if  I  took  advantage  of  your  feeling  this  afternoon 
that  you  wanted  to  do  that,  that  I  wasn't  a  fit  per- 
son for  the  job.  You'd  see  that  for  yourself  in 
time  and  then  where  would  I  be?  We're  good 
friends  now,  ciren't  we?  Well,  I'd  rather  keep  it 
so." 

"Oh,  all  right,"  she  said  a  little  absently,  "if  you 
feel  that  way  about  it.  Yes,  of  course  we're  friends. 
When  do  we  start  for  Joliet?" 

They  had  a  good  two  hours  before  it  was  neces- 
sary to  set  out,  and  during  all  that  time  she  never 
reverted  to  her  rejected  proposal.     She  sent  him 


3IO  REAL  LIFE 

away  for  a  few  minutes  so  that  she  could  dress  and, 
this  accomphshed,  they  wandered  for  an  hour  about 
the  farm.  They  sat  side  by  side  on  the  pasture 
fence  and  watched  a  coHie  dog  herd  the  cows  into 
the  bam  to  be  milked.  They  had  supper  together 
and  afterward,  on  the  front  porch,  while  they 
waited  for  Mr.  Stokes  to  drive  around  with  the 
Ford,  they  sat  in  a  splint-bottomed  rocker  settee. 

Pretty  much  all  this  time  they  talked — the 
Princess  doing  the  most  of  it,  telling  him,  somewhat 
disjointedly,  the  story  of  her  adventures.  She  told 
him  of  the  yacht  and  the  yachtsmen  and  Joe;  she 
told  him  about  Mabel  and  Julius,  and  her  unsuccess- 
ful attempt  to  be  a  vampire ;  she  told  him  about  the 
good  Samaritan,  and  the  judge ;  she  told  him  about 
the  incredible  dune-bug.  And  finally,  in  the  twilight 
on  the  porch,  she  began  telling  him  about  Bill. 

"I  didn't  know  you  could  feel  about  anybody 
in  that  mixed-up  sort  of  way,"  she  confessed.  "I 
always  thought  you  loved  them  or  you  didn't;  and 
if  you  loved  them  truly,  it  lasted  all  your  life.  Well, 
I  didn't  love  him  that  way,  I  suppose.  I  thought  I 
did  yesterday,  when  I  saw  him  getting  killed  by 
that  motor  truck.  And  all  day  yesterday,  when- 
ever we  had  a  minute's  peace — whenever  people 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  PRINCESS     311 

weren't  chasing  us  or  catching  us  or  telHng  us  they 
were  going  to  put  us  in  jail  or  something — it  was 
....well,  it  was  just  heavenly.  It  was  like  hav- 
ing the  loveliest  dream  there  ever  was  in  the  world 
— come  true.     I  was  perfectly  sure  he  was  a  prince ! 

"Oh,  of  course,  I  know  it  was  silly  of  me  to 
think  that.  You  see,  I  was  really — just  a  child,  yes- 
terday. I  didn't  know  anything  about  real  life  at 
all."  She  drew  a  deep  sigh.  "Well,  I  do  now  all 
right!" 

She  turned  upon  her  companion  with  sudden 
vehemence.  "But  I'm  never  going  to  forget  him, 
Walter.  I  wouldn't  forget  him  for — for  anybody 
in  the  world;  nor  pretend  I  was  sorry  I  ran  away 
with  him — and  took  care  of  him — and  kissed  him — 
twice.  But  I  wouldn't  see  him  again  for  anything 
in  the  world,  either.  — There  comes  Mr.  Stokes.  I 
guess  we'd  better  be  starting,  even  if  there  is  lots 
of  time,  for  I'd  hate  to  miss  that  train.  I  want  to 
get  back  into  the  movies.  Because,  honestly,  Wal- 
ter, I  don't  see  how  the  people  in  real  life  stand  it!" 

She  became  a  good  deal  less  talkative  when  they 
had  begun  their  thirty-mile  drive.  She'd  said  her 
say  for  the  present.  If  he  wanted  to  talk  he  might. 
He  did  pretty  well  for  the  first  half  of  the  way. 


312  REAL  LIFE 

entertaining  her  with  the  story  of  the  young  man 
who  found  her  mesh  bag  under  the  motor  truck 
and  who  wished  for  his  sole  reward  the  opportunity 
of  handing  it  back  to  her  personally;  the  story  of 
Mr.  Carstairs  and  how  he  found  her  wrist  watch; 
his  own  encounter  with  Miss  Priscilla  Alden,  and 
so  on.  But  when  this  vein  played  out  he  fell  silent 
too. 

It  occurred  to  her  rather  poignantly  that  he 
must  be  as  tired  as  she  was.  He'd  probably  had 
even  less  sleep  in  the  past  twenty-four  hours  than 
she — if  he'd  had  any  at  all;  and  he'd  had  the  bur- 
den besides  of  a  racking  anxiety.  So  if  he'd  gone 
a  little  slack  now  and  shown  a  disposition  to  drop 
asleep  it  wouldn't  have  been  surprising.  She  was 
pleasantly  aware,  however,  that  his  silence  had  none 
of  this  quality.  There  was  no  lassitude  about  him 
as  he  sat  drawn  rather  carefully  away  from  her 
and  gazing  fixedly  out  ahead  at  the  dancing  patch 
of  illumination  made  by  the  car  lights.  He  seemed 
to  be  feeling  pretty  sad,  and  more  so  the  nearer  they 
got  to  Joliet.,    Well,  the  Princess  hoped  he  was. 

The  drive  afforded  no  incidents,  let  alone  any 
misadventures.  Now  that  she  was  getting  back 
into  the  movies  again  life  seemed  to  be  ironing  itself 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  PRINCESS     313 

out  Into  its  familiar  uneventful  texture.  They  found 
themselves  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town  which  was 
their  destination  a  good  half-hour  before  their  train 
was  to  be  expected. 

"We'll  stay  right  here  In  the  car  until  the  train 
comes  in,"  Patrick  announced,  as  they  stopped  in 
a  dark  little  side-street  near  the  station.  "I  don't 
believe  there's  anyone  here  looking  for  us,  but  we 
may  as  well  play  it  safe." 

Then,  by  way  of  winding  up  his  connection  with 
the  Princess's  affairs,  he  paid  Mr.  Stokes  the  stipu- 
lated price  for  his  services  and  handed  the  rest  of 
the  money  over  to  the  Princess,  along  with  the  scrap 
of  paper  upon  which  was  written,  he  told  her, 
Lazaref's  address. 

"I  have  explained  to  your  mother,"  he  added, 
"about  your  agreement  to  buy  the  cottage." 

"That's  all  right,"  she  said  rather  absently. 

From  then  on  until  the  gleam  of  the  approach- 
ing locomotive  headlight  appeared,  neither  of  them 
spoke  a  word.  But  when  it  did  she  sprung  a  care- 
fully planted  mine  under  him. 

She  turned  upon  him  suddenly  and  clutched  him 
tightly  by  the  hand. 

"Walter,"  she  said,  "I'm  not  going  to  gtt  on 


314  REAL  LIFE 

that  train  unless  you  do !  Now  then,  are  you  going 
to  be  my  manager,  or  aren't  you  ?" 

He  protested  that  this  wasn't  fair,  but  she  knew 
just  from  the  sort  of  gasp  he  gave  that  she  had  him. 

"I  know  it  isn't  fair,"  she  admitted.  "I  didn't 
mean  it  to  be.  It's  the  only  way  to  treat  stubborn 
people,  I've  found." 

He  said  nothing  more  until  the  train  had  pulled 
in  and  stopped.  Then  as  he  opened  the  door  to  the 
Ford  and  stepped  down  he  capitulated. 

"I'll  get  on  the  train  with  you,  anyhow,"  he 
said.    "We'll  talk  over  the  other  matter  at  leisure.'* 

"That'll  do  to  begin  on,"  she  agreed. 

But  during  the  moment  on  the  back  platform, 
while  they  waited  for  the  porter  to  unlock  the  door 
to  the  private  car,  she  betrayed  him  again — broke 
the  terms  of  their  armistice  to  bits. 

"I'm  going  to  tell  mother  you're  my  manager," 
she  said,  "and  unless  you  back  me  up. . .  .Did  you 
hear  what  I  told  the  chauffeur  of  the  yellow  taxi 
you  were?    Well,  I'll  tell  mother  that,  too." 

"Good  Lord !  Princess !"  he  cried. 

By  now  they  were  in  the  presence  of  the  porter 
and  Ma  herself  was  looming  in  the  background. 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  PRINCESS     315 

"That's    fair    enough/'    the    Princess    insisted. 

"You  see,  I'm  leaving  you  your  choice !" 
*         *         * 

[Editorial  from  the  Chicago  Tribunel 

WE  ARE  A  BOOB 

In  the  humility  of  a  chastened  spirit  we  admit 
that  Miss  Leda  Swan  has  not  disappeared.  She 
came  into  Chicago  on  schedule,  and  equally  accord- 
ing to  plan  she  left  it.  Indeed,  it  may  be  said  she 
left  it  flat  on  its  back. 

It  is  announced  that  she  spent  the  hours  of  her 
sojourn  with  us  in  looking  over  a  location  for  a  pic- 
ture and  in  the  purchase  of  properties  for  it.  We 
hasten  to  offer  Miss  Swan  the  use  of  our  local  room, 
and  our  reportorial  staff  as  supernumeraries.  She 
may  come  up  here  at  her  convenience  and  shoot 
whatever  she  likes. 

We  offer  apologetic  condolences  to  our  contem- 
poraries who  followed  us  so  confidingly  down  to 
the  pit  into  which  our  innocent  and  trusting  nature 
decoyed  us.  We,  like  the  young-lady  waitress  of 
recent  fame,  have  been  kidded  by  experts. 

The  End 


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